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Christmas Greeting 


By 

MARIE CORELLI 


NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 


■ T23 
,C *2 1 2 Civ 

T <J 


Copyright , iqoi 
Dodd, Mead and Company 

Ail rights reserved 

THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

fcICV. 16 1901 

Copyright entwv 

K*0. X.lqot 

CLASS ^XXa No. 

'Id u- o 7 ^ 

COPY A. 



UNIVERSITY PRESS • JOHN WILSON 
AND SON ■ CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 









©GO00OGGGGGGG0Q0GQOG0GGGG ^ ©©O0G0OGOGGOOQOOG0GQ0OGOO 

“A MERRY CHRISTMAS! 


>> 


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OOOOO0GOOO0OOOOOGO0GGOOOG ^ OO0GGGO00G0OOGGOGO0O0G0O© 

A Christmas Greeting 

©©©OGOOGGGGO00GG0GO0G00GO >J< OOQQOGOOG0O0G00O00GG)©©©©© 

“A MERRY CHRISTMAS!” 


T is an old, very old, timeworn 
greeting, this of the friendly 
“Merry Christmas to you!” 
and there are some folks among 
us in these days who profess to 
hate the very sound of it. It 
came into use when England was known as 
“ Merrie England,” an appellation which seems 
more than singular to us who have to endure 
the inane dullness and melancholy stupidity of 
“ society ” as it exists in this present gloriously- 
progressive Motor-Era. Looking round on the 
tired, worn, nervous, querulous faces in the crowds 
that fill the streets and shops at Christmas-time, 
— hearing the endless complaints, the new dis- 
eases, the troubles, real and fancied, of each per- 
son who can manage to detain a friend for five 
minutes' hurried and morbid conversation, — 
reading the delectable details of suicide, murder, 
mania and misadventure preciously garnered 
up as gems of literature for the million by the 
halfpenny press — one may reasonably wonder 
3 



©©0OO00O0000OOO0O00OOO0O0 >}< ©©0O000O0OOO0OOOOOO0O0OOO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


whether England was ever in truth really “ mer- 
rie,” as recorded. Her ancient sweet songs and 
ballads, her old-fashioned “Yule games” and 
picturesque “ country dances ” would appear to 
prove her so, — reports of the “ open doors ” 
and generous hospitality of her jolly yeomen 
and hunting squires in bygone days are still 
extant, — and it may be reasonably asked why, 
if she was so “ merrie ” once, she cannot be 
equally “ merrie ” again. 

“ It is a farce to wish me ‘A Merry Christ- 
mas,’ ” says the pessimist — “ I have no cause 
to be merry ! ” 

Quite so ! But then, my excellent friend, you 
must remember that all the world does not wag 
in your particular way ! Strange, is n’t it ? You 
may possibly have thought now and then, as a 
self-concentrated unit, that because you are not 
merry (and you never will be, I fear) — there- 
fore no one else has any right to be so. This 
is your little mistake ! However, as it is Christ- 
mas time we will not be hard on you ! You 
shall enjoy yourself in your own approved fash- 
ion of being miserable! No one shall interfere 
with you, provided you do not interfere with 
anyone else. Grumble away all by yourself! 

4 


GO©©0©GO©O©©GGGOGOGOOGO©O ^ G0GOOOGGGOOGGGGGGGGOGGGOO 

“A MERRY CHRISTMAS!” 

Sneer at “A Merry Christmas” — only do it 
alone ! Curse the frost, the wind, the rain, the 
robins, the Christmas cards, the puddings, the 
mince-pies, the holly, the mistletoe (and the 
kisses under it !), and announce to blank space 
your detestation of the whole Festival ! No 
one shall come near you, believe me, so long as 
you keep on your own ground and do not at- 
tempt to trespass on your neighbour’s little plot 
of harmless enjoyment. For there are still a 
few of us remaining on the planet who are 
not absolutely and incurably selfish, — who can 
find their pleasure in making others happy, — 
who can put aside their own private griefs for 
the sake of cheering those who are still more 
grieved, — who can take delight in the laughter 
and merriment of children, and for whom the an- 
niversary of Christ’s birth is still a sacred day, 
consecrated to joy and thanksgiving. True it 
is that every such recurring anniversary must 
have its sorrowful thought or memory asso- 
ciated with those who are no longer here with 
us ; true it is in very saddest earnest that the 
cruel grip of War has robbed many a home of 
its nearest and dearest, who will be missed and 
mourned when families gather round the Christ- 
5 


©©©©0OO0O0OOO0O0O0OO0OOO0 ^ ©OO0O0OO0OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


mas fire and talk of the past in low voices, with 
tears in their eyes — nevertheless, it is also true, 
thank God, that those who are gone are neither 
“lost” nor really “parted” from us. Possibly 
they are nearer to us in our lonely evenings 
than we know, — possibly they hear our voices, 
and see us as they saw us in life. We cannot 
tell ; and as our ignorance of the Divine mys- 
teries leaves us in doubt, let us be even as we 
would if our beloved ones were here, — cheerful 
among ourselves, and kind to all those with 
whom we are brought in contact. 

“ §£e tofio habe scorned each other 
<®r injured friend or brother, 

3|n this fast-fading pear ; 

^e toljo bp toord or deed 
Ipabe made a bind heart bleed, 

Come, gather here ! 
iltt sinn’d against and sinning 
jforget their strife’s beginning 
Bnd foin in friendship noto ; 

UBe links no longer broken, 

Be stoeet forgibeness spoken 
tender the l^ollp Bough - 
“ |?e toho habe nourished sadness, 
estranged from hope and gladness 
3fln this fast-fading pear ; 

6 


©OGG3GOO0OOGOGGGOOGOGGOGO ©GG0GGOOOGOGGOGOO0OOGGGOG 

“ A MERRY CHRISTMAS!” 

§£e tottp o’er-butfmieb mind 
be aliens? from pour femo, 

Come, gatper pcre ! 
tlet not pour us?eles?s? s?orroto 
^uroue pou nigpt ano morrofco, 

31 f e'er pou popeb, hope noto ! 

£afee peart ! — flftnclouO pour faces?* 

#nt> font tn our embraces? 
mnber tpe J£ollp 315ougp ! ” 

There is no use in grieving : — there is no 
sense in quarrelling : — there is no advantage in 
grumbling. People sacrifice both good health 
and good looks by constant querulousness. 
Suppose it is a “cold ” Christmas, or a “ damp” 
Christmas, or a “ green ” Christmas, or an “ east- 
windy ” Christmas, or an altogether meteorologi- 
cally disagreeable Christmas. Well, what then ? 
All the peevishness in the world will not alter 
it. Some of you who don’t like it will make for 
Egypt or the Riviera. Much good may it do 
you! An Arab smell, and the “fleecing” of 
Cairene hotel proprietors are doubtful additions 
to Christmas pleasure — and the raucous cry of 
the croupier at Monte Carlo — “Faites vosjeux, 
Messieurs et Mesdames ! ” is scarcely worth 
crossing the Channel to hear. Perhaps, however, 
7 


©O00G0G© OGO0OGGGGQQ00GGO0 ^ OG0GGGGQGGOO0GO000G00GO©© 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


it may be a satisfaction to some folks to spend 
their surplus cash in “ furrin parts” rather than 
at home ? If this should be the case, it will be 
an equal satisfaction to me to politely intimate 
that I consider such persons unworthy of their 
own matchless country. The much abused 
“ English climate ” is good enough for any- 
body. Every sort of “ temperature ” can be 
obtained in these favoured British Isles. If 
warmth, and freedom from east winds be re- 
quired, it can be obtained at Penzance, New- 
quay, or Tenby — or better still on the lovely 
Irish coast at Parknasilla, where palms and 
tropical trees grow to perfection all winter in the 
open. Certainly there is no “ gambling-hell ” 
there ; — there are only warm Irish hearts wait- 
ing for sympathy and comprehension, and I 
venture to think they merit as much good cash 
spent among them for their benefit as is wasted 
on the French, who, given the opportunity, 
abuse their English patrons more outrageously 
than any wild-headed, big-hearted Irish “agi- 
tator” that ever lived. I must confess I have 
no sympathy with the restless, nervous swarms 
of semi-lunatics ever “ on the go ” in search of 
“ change,” who turn their backs on Imperial 


©GGO3O0G0OOGOOG00OGQ00GG© ^ OOQ0OGO000QG0GGG000OOG0OO 

“ A MERRY CHRISTMAS!” 


Britain at the first breath of its winter, which, 
taken on the whole, is a much more healthy 
winter than other countries are blessed with. 
And an ££ old English Yule” kept in the old 
English manner is not to be despised. Try it, 
all you who are not going abroad — you who 
are not only content, but glad and proud to 
remain in this 

“ Card) of aaatestp, tl no seat of 
£l)to other Coen, bemi-paraoise, 

2Cl)t0 fortress built bp Mature for herself ; 

♦ * ♦ %i)i$ little toorlb, 

%\)t& precious stone set in the silber sea ! ” 

Try to keep a happy and ££ merrie” Christ- 
mas in England — try to make it a blessed and 
unforgettable festival of pleasure for more than 
yourselves. Do some little special kindness, each 
one of you, unobtrusively in your own immediate 
neighbourhood, and never bother about the ££ in- 
convenience,” or the ££ trouble,” or the ££ cold.” 

“ Colo Christmas ? j£o ! 

<®ur Christmas is not colo ; 
although the north tombs bloto 
ano pile the Drifting snoto, 
anb the beech-trees on the freezing tools 
Hock saolp to ano fro* 

9 


OO0OG00OOGGOOO3GOOQQGOGGO >J< ©O0©G©0G©OO©GGO©0O©G)O©©©O 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


But Christmas? bears? a inarm, true heart, 
i^is? face ts? reb imth glee, 

3nb \)t jests? anb laughs 
&nb sings anb quaffs? — 
fyz inas neber unfetnb to me, my lobe, 

^ay \)t neber be colb to thee ! 

“ ®lb Christmas ? $lo ! 

Chough s?tates? anb feingboms inear, 

#nb change anb rum groin 
jFront ages as? they Horn, 
i£e ’s? as? light of treab, as? young anb fair 
as a thous?anb years? ago* 

Che morning beams are alinays nein 
£lnb s?catter blessings free, 

&nb the Christmas cay 
3|s? as nein as they, 
fyt inas neber olb to me, my lobe ; 

^ay he neber groin olb to thee ! ” 

So runs a sweet old song, sung by a true 
English poet in days long ago gone by, and the 
clear, clean, glad and wholesome spirit of it is 
surely worth cherishing. Let none of us say 
we “hate” Christmas. Whatever our mem- 
ories, bitter or sweet, they do not belong to the 
festival, but only to ourselves. Suppose there- 
fore we lose sight of ourselves — our precious 
selves — just for once in our lives, and consider 


0O0O0G00O0OOQG0000OOO00O© ^ OOG0OOGOOG0GGGGOG03GOOGOO 

“A MERRY CHRISTMAS!” 

others a little ? If we do this, we shall find it 
easy to be “ merry,” easy to smile, easy to say a 
kind word, easy to do a kind action, easy to 
“ bring home the holly,” and very easy to hang 
up the mistletoe and waft a kiss from under it 
to any cross old boy who declines to be as happy 
as we would like to make him ! 











































©O0000©GO0G0OO0G©G)©OGGGO© ^ ©GQGG00OOOOOGOOGGOO0GG0O© 

ENGLAND 
























































































































































































































































GOO0O00G00O0OGOOO0GG00G0O GG0OO0G0QGGGO0O00GO0000G0 

ENGLAND 

I9OI-I902 



>3lf € up tfjtnc epep, Chtecm 
| UDartior of tfjc bmld ! 


£>tand, fearless s footed on 
€imc’s shifting berge, 


3lind tuatefj tfjp liJcto ffear'p 
Doubtful Datoit emerge 


from parting clouds tljicft^roll'ti in thunderous 
l©ar ! 

3to, Ijotu tbp broad Cast reddens to tbp HNpt, 
€bc buljxlc tbp tboupatidsbictoricd flag, urn 
furl’d, 

H3abcs to tljp ji5ortl) and ^outl) in one ropal 
fold 

<Of tentilibe shelter for an empire p rest ; 

O <JBuccn, plnord-girdcd, lidmctcd in gold, 
Strong Conqueror of all tbp manp focp, 
atoolt from tbp roebp (nights and pec afar 
€bc coming future menacing tl)e JDast, 

IDitb clamour and build change of prepent 
tilings, 

itingdomP dobnupbaften bntl) tin fall of 
fungp, 


5 


GOGOO0O0OO000O000G0OOO00© ^ 0000G00O0000O000GO000O000 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 

25ut fear not €I)ou ! Cfjou ’rt jtftill tljc firsft 
anti last 

Imperial toeatet of tfje Beatljlcss flosic, — 
Croton’B toitf> tf>c jSunligljt, gicDleb toitlj tlje 
;Sea, 

St^otljer of niigfjtiesK j^ationp pet to Be ! 


16 


©0GGG0G00000GG000O0G00GG© ►J* OGGGQOGGOGGQGQGGGGGGG© ©GO 

THE KING’S CROWN 


17 





OO0O0OGOGGGOO0GOGG000O0G0 ►{< ©OOOGGGQGOGGOOOGGGOGOOGGO 

THE KING’S CROWN 


A DREAM OF THE PRESENT AND THE 
FUTURE 


HE late rays of the sinking sun 
shot rosy lines of light through 
the high, painted glass casement 
of a quaint oriel chamber, where, 
on a cushion of crimson velvet, 
shone the Crown of a great 
King and Emperor. It was set there in readi- 
ness for the morrow, — when, at a stately page- 
ant of national rejoicing, all the people would 
see it raised high above them as a symbol of 
the Throne and the glory of the land. Deft 
jewellers had been at work for days, burnishing its 
golden setting and polishing its priceless jewels, 
— and now, — their work completed, — they 
had brought it here for the night, and, to ensure 
perfect safety, had left it in this special place be- 
cause it was more difficult of access than any 
other corner of the Royal palace. It was a 
small recess apart ; — and the only door leading 
to it was through the “ strong room,” where all 
the gold and silver plate was kept, and where 

19 



©0030OGOOOGO0OO000OOOO0OO I ©00O0O0Q00GOOOO0OOGO000G© 

A CH RI'STM AS GREETING 


two armed men paced up and down both day 
and night, keeping close watch and guard. 
Flashing sparkles of light twinkled every now 
and again from the precious stones in the Crown, 
as the sunset hues caught their finely-cut points 
and touched them into flame ; and an atmos- 
phere of silent majesty surrounded the historical 
emblem of earth’s proudest empire, — lifeless in 
itself, yet having the strange power of outlasting 
the life of all its kings ! The sun sank ; its rays 
grew paler and dimmer, till by-and-by they 
faded altogether. Long shadows came, then 
the twilight, then the dark, and deep silence. 
Now and again a trumpet-call from the soldiers’ 
quarters hard by, a bell slowly chiming the hour, 
or the clash of muskets outside on the courtyard* 
betokening a change of sentry, broke the solemn 
hush of night, but beyond this no human sound 
disturbed the solitude and obscurity of the secret 
nook which enshrined the Imperial Crown of a 
still more splendid and imperial Realm. 

All suddenly, about an hour before the moon 
rose, a thick, almost palpable Darkness, darker 
than the night itself, gathered in the room and 
began to circle like a threatening storm around 
the Crown. Gradually this blackness took upon 
20 


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THE KING’S CROWN 


itself shape and stature, and, rising full height, 
displayed the gigantic form of an Angel with 
sable wings, and a countenance distorted with 
cruelty and avarice. 

“Mine is the Crown! ” he said. “Mine are the 
People! Mine is the Land, and mine is the King!” 

And as he spoke he stretched forth a hand to 
snatch the Royal diadem, when, like a flame 
breaking through the walls and floor of the 
oriel-chamber, a great light shone on every side, 
and another Angel, stately and majestic, whose 
snowy wings were like the early rays of the 
morning sun shining through white and azure, 
confronted that fierce Spirit of the Darkness. 

“ Not so ! ” said a voice clear as a silver clarion. 
“Mine is the Crown! Mine are the People! 
Mine is the Kingdom, and mine is the King!” 

For one second of time they stood thus 
opposed one to the other — the country’s Crown 
between them. Then came the flashing of a 
great Sword, and the Angel of darkness struck 
with it fiercely at his god-like rival. 

“ War ! ” he cried. “ Eternal war ! For all 
the evils of the land there shall be vengeance ! ” 

And like a shaft of lightning through a cloud 
another fiery Sword parried the savage blow. 


OGGGGG0OG0Q00G0OOGQQ0GG0G »J< QGGGQGQGGGGQGGGGGGOGGGGG0 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


<c Peace ! ” said the silver-sounding voice of 
the Angel of Light. “ Glory and peace ! For 
all the evils of the land there shall be justice ! ” 
Then they closed and fought — those mighty, 
supernatural Warriors, — and in their fearful 
contest the air around them both grew dense 
and lurid, and the Crown, glittering with great 
gems on its crimson velvet cushion, appeared 
to float in a pool of blood. Closer and more 
terrible grew the fight, — and the evil angel, 
with such ferocity as only hate and cruelty can 
give, twice thrust his dazzling foe to the ground; 

— twice smote the heavenly-fair head with the 
great Sword that bore the words “ everlasting 
death ” upon its blade. And while they yet 
battled on, the moon rose, round and full, 
peering in upon them like a wondering white 
face of sad and wistful inquiry. For a moment * 
they paused in their conflict, — and the jewels 
in the Crown suddenly ceased to sparkle. Five 
aerial forms of exquisite beauty arose from its 
golden circlet, lifting themselves above it like 
drifting wreaths of sea-mist in the radiance of 
the moonlight, and their voices, small and soft, 
yet clear as the notes of a sweet song, made 
music in the silence. 


22 


QGGGOGGOOGGOGGG00GO0GO0O© ©00G0O0GOO0GOO0GO000OO0GO 

THE KING'S CROWN 


“ I am the Spirit of the Pearl ! ” said one. 
“ Through centuries of history I have seen 
c Right' for-ever conquer c Might,' and so shall 
it be again ! " 

“ I am the Spirit of the Ruby ! ” said another. 
c< I mark both War and Victory! From the 
bitter agony and labour of strong battle I have 
seen the birth of Love and Peace ! All things, 
whether gentle or fierce, kind or cruel, have 
worked together for the good and the glory of 
the land; — so has it ever been, and so shall it 
be again ! " 

“ I am the Spirit of the Sapphire ! ” said the 
third; “ I know the movements of justice — I 
watch the performing of God's Will. Through 
light, through darkness, through gladness and 
sorrow, God holds His perfect way with kings 
and kingdoms. Strife is sharp and strong, but 
Truth is stronger; — so it has ever been, and so 
it shall be again ! " 

“ I am the Spirit of the Emerald ! " said a 
fourth. “ Through all the history of the realm 
I have counted the tears of the poor, the suffer- 
ings of the weak, the griefs of the lonely, and 
when I set my light on the great king’s brow I 
move him to deeds of pity and loving-kindness ! 

23 


OGO0G000OO0OG00O0000O000G ^ ©©OO0OOOO00OOOO0OO00OOOO0 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


I watch the world progressing in good, — I know 
that there is more tenderness than wrath in 
humanity, — more love than hate! The Em- 
pire’s glory is in deeds of mercy ! So it has 
been before — so it shall be again ! ” 

“ I am the Spirit of the Diamond ! ” said the 
fifth, — “ And wherever I shine, there, too, 
shines the Star of Freedom ! No slave can 
breathe when my light sparkles in the air ! 
Progress and Love and Wisdom spring up at 
my command, and naught can lessen the Crown’s 
glory while I remain its central gem ! Liberty 
and honour ! These are the watchwords of our 
mighty Empire ! So they have been for ages ; 
so shall they ever be ! ” 

Their voices ceased, and joining their delicate 
hands they melted into a shining circle about the 
Crown, — a circle of pure and penetrating light 
like the early sunbeams of a clear spring morning. 

But the Angel of Darkness, resting on his 
sword, heard them and smiled — a smile darker 
and more implacable than any frown. 

“Oh, foolish, evanescent Shapes! Oh, vain 
gods of perishable gems!” he cried; “How 
shall ye combat Me, who hold the mystic Opal ! 
— the stone of sorrow and of death ? What is 


24 


GOGOGG0GGGGGGGGGG0GOGOOG© ©©GOOGOGOOOGGOOGGOGGGOOOO 

THE KING’S CROWN 


your strength against mine ? Less than the 
strength of reeds in a swift tide, — for I am the 
Spirit of Mammon, and Time’s great pendulum 
swings the hour to me ! Lo, here shines the 
Crown’s mischief! — sparkling with a thousand 
fires of world’s wealth, world’s lust, world’s 
treachery, world’s vanity ! — hues of the rainbow, 
as fleeting as they are fair ! Emblem of ruin and 
disaster, take Thou thy place in the Crown, and 
shed My light upon the great King’s brow ! In- 
destructible and terrible! — Jewel of devils and 
cursing, I set thee there to work My will ! ” 

He raised on high the Opal, glittering like a 
foam-bell on a treacherous sea, — and then, 
bending his dark form above the Crown, strove 
to set it within that golden band. But the magic 
circle of fire around it grew brighter, and deeper, 
and wider, till it was like a flame of glory, — 
springing higher and ever higher, it surrounded 
the Angel of Light with countless arrowy 
beams. 

“ Fight on, God’s Angel of the Kingdom ! ” 
said a distant Voice that echoed like thunder far 
away. “ Fight on! Unto thee shall be given 
the victory ! ” 

Then the Angel raised his sword of Light 
2 5 


GXIXi)O0GOG©GO©0OO©©G0G)©GOO0 ©GGX3OO0O000GOGG00O00GGG00 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


and struck the Opal from his enemy’s hand. 
It fell to the ground shattered to atoms, and 
a rushing sound as of many waters filled the 
air. 

“ New and Old are as one ! ” said the Voice ; 
Past and Future are as Present ! Fight on, 
God’s Angel of the Kingdom, — for Now is the 
acceptable time ! ” 

And once again those mighty Spirits fought, 
— and, as they crossed their mystic Swords, 
there came a wailing noise as of the weeping of 
a great multitude. Cries of passionate grief 
echoed up from some dismal unseen abyss of 
suffering, and the anguish of a great People was 
borne on the double rhythmic beat of a Funeral 
march and a Battle song. Strange gleaming 
visions came and went in the darkness : — wom- 
en’s pale faces worn with toil and sorrow; — 
dead soldiers slain in their youth, and lying 
unburied ; — grim countenances of foul and lust- 
ful men, who occupied their time in digging gold 
out of newly-made graves, wherein the bodies 
had scarcely rested long enough to crumble 
into dust ; — bold eyes of false women shining 
wickedly through skulls that were crowned with 
gems ; — wide seas on which the great ships 
26 


©OOGGGG0GGGGGO0GGGGGGOQOO 0GGOGGG0GGGGGGOOOOGOOO0OO 

THE KING’S CROWN 


tossed, bearing the seeds of new nations ; — 
flashing networks of light, on which the quick 
news travelled in dancing letters of flame ! And 
over all — a Cloud, — and under all — the 
Crown ! The night hours wore away, and still 
the combat raged, — and still the Angel of the 
Darkness fought fiercely with the Angel of the 
Light. And the visions came and went like 
shadows in a magic mirror — some beautiful, 
some terrible, — some that were like great storms 
raging over the land, — some floating by in the 
halcyon fairness of long summer days. Now 
and again while that mystic flashing of Swords 
made luminance in the air, there came a sound 
of young voices singing in the distance, and the 
words that broke through the music were like 
these — 

“ ^eatljru be tlje sinord for cber ! — let tbe Drum 
115e school bops’ pastime, — let pour battles 
cease ; — 

and be tbe cannon’s toice for eber Dumb 
CEjrcrpt to celebrate tbe fops of peace ! 

3re pe not brothers? <£>od, inborn me rebere, 

31s l£e not jfatber of all climes anD lands? 
jform an alliance, bolp and sincere, 
and join, foin bands ! ” 

2 7 


00000O000O0O000OO000OOOO© ^ O0OOOO0OOOOOOOOOO0OOOOOOO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


The song died away in a tremulous wave of 
melody, and a pearly light began to suffuse the 
atmosphere like the first suggestion of the open- 
ing morn. Weary and pale, but still dauntless 
and unconquered, the Angel of the Light dealt 
stroke for stroke, blow for blow against his 
Enemy, when all at once, with a sudden and 
savage onslaught, the Angel of the Darkness 
caught his opponent by the arm which held 
the sword, and almost wrenched the dazzling 
weapon from his hand. And then the Angel 
of the Light gave a great cry of supplica- 
tion. 

“ O God of Justice and of Love ! ” petitioned 
the silver-sounding voice ; “ Suffer not Thy 
Christian kingdom to be torn from Thy gra- 
cious protection ! Clear Thou this Cloud of evil 
days, and take away the heavy weight of fear 
and of sorrow from the hearts of Thy stricken and 
suffering people, who do not forget Thy mercies 
in the past ! Give Me the Crown, O God of 
Empires! — Give Me the King ! ” 

And as the prayer was spoken, the Angel of 
the Darkness fell back, weakened and dismayed, 
for the heavenly Warrior, grasping his sword 
with redoubled force and purpose, dealt with 
28 


GQQGQGGOGGGGQOQGGOOOGGGOO QOGQGQGQGGQGGOGQGGGGGGGGO 

THE KING’S CROWN 


it one mighty stroke which brought his foe to 
the ground. 

“ Yield thou, mine Enemy ! ” cried the tri- 
umphant Angel ; “ Claim no more that which 
was never thine ! Seek no more that which 
shall never belong to thee ! Mine is the Crown ! 
— mine is the Kingdom ! — and mine, by the 
grace of God, is the King ! ” 

The widening dawn lightened the painted 
windows with a silver mist, flecked through 
with palest rose, and the darkness, gathering 
together, rolled itself up like a curtain and fled 
away. All shapes of evil and visions of terror 
vanished ; — and as the morning broke, the 
Angel of the Light, alone and victorious, with 
snowy wings widespread, and fair face bright 
with God’s own eternal splendour, lifted the 
King’s Crown in both radiant hands towards 
Heaven, to meet the rays of the rising sun and 
the full golden glory of the Day ! 


2 9 









GG0O0OO000OOOGOO0G0GO0O0© ►{< ©OOOGOOGOOG00O00O0O0000Q0 

HYMN FOR THE CORONATION 


3i 













































































00GOOGGG0GOOOOGOG0OGGO©©© ©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©© 

HYMN FOR THE CORO- 
NATION 


of ^Empires, bf 
perfect Lobe, 

€fiat toert, nub art, anb ebers 
more itfljalt be, — 

Rafter anb fHaster of tfjc 
toorlbS abobc, 

J'abtour of all tobo fir tfjcir hope on Cfice, — 
L>enr us, great Horb of nations neto anb olb, 
435ibcr of blessings countless anb untolb, — 
€o?bap before €fip ftfitonc toe plcbgc ancto 
<£>ur Cnglanb’S trust in all things |ngh 
anb true, 

5Lnb tottl) uniteb hearts to €ljee toe bring 
t)nn unto toljom our lopal faith is buc, — 
<£5ob of our fathers ! oBuarb anb bless the 
Hiing ! 

Cfje tountrp'S croton toe Set upon fits broto, 
JEfitfj praper, tljanltsgtbntg, anb tfje Sounb 
of Song; 

Eternal llting of kings, rcteibe him noto, 

2Cnb fill fiiS Soul tottlj potoer bibine anb 
Strong ; 

3 



33 


O0O0G3OOOOO00OOOOOOOO0O0O ^ ©G0O0QO0O0O0G0O0GOOOGOGGO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


li^erbe Chou ljis fjanb unto the Stcptrc’S Stoap, 
<£5uibc Chou (us steps in eberp noble luap, 
3Unb let ttje grace of all things stocct anti 
fair 

2DeSccnb on per tufjosc Spirit pure anb rare 
for fjappp pears tljc nation’s pribc Ijatlj 
been, 

5Cnb noto tlje nation’s croton anb tljrone 
Dotfj share; 

4Sob of our fathers! 40uarb anb bless tljc 
<©uecn! 

3torb of the past anb future, let Chp light 
Shiite on this bouble crotoning of our Hanb ! 
Jit peace or IDar, <P <©ob bcfenb the flight 
3Hnb let our Sljtcib be Still Chp Sheltering 
pattb ! 

Pear anb accept Chp grateful people’s praise 
for all Chp mercies in tljc former baps, — 
for present jopS, for blessings pet to be, 
IPe fptmblp gisc the glorp unto Chee, 

5Cnb to €hp Scrbicc toe bo consecrate 
Clje ^obcrcignS of our €mpire of the 
J»ca ! 

<6ob of our fathers! <Buarb anb bless tljc 
J>tatc ! 


34 


0G0000O03000030O0O03000O© ►{< ®00©OOO0G©0300OG©©O©©00©0 

HYMN FOR THE CORONATION 


Hong libe our ©mperor^lting anb Cmprebb^ 
OBuccn ! 

4Bob babe tljcni from all ebilb near or far ! 

s$ap golben pearb of bappiebt peace berene 
fli^afte bright tljc btoap of tfjeir ^Imperial 
btar ! 

25efore Ijigb I^caben toe btoear to tfjem our 
faitlj, 

honour anb trutfj anb lopaltp till beat!) ! 
Courage anb djibalrp are bjitfj ub pet, — 
<Bob bfjall forget ub all ere We forget ! 

Houb let our boiceb tbit!) t(je jopsbellb ring, 
Co all tfje nationb fjetre together met ; — 

4Bob be toitf) Cngianb, anb bjitfj Cnglanb’b 
Sting! 


35 




©O©OOO0OOGG©OOGO0QGO©0O0O ►£< OOOO0GO00OOOO0GOOOOOGOGOO 

THE SOUL OF QUEEN ALEXANDRA 


37 









- 











































©OO00OO0©00O0Gi©OG)OO<3©0©OO >J< ©O0OG)©GG©G©©©GGGGGG©O0OGO 

THE SOUL OF QJJEEN 
ALEXANDRA 

A SPIRIT-PICTURE 


AVE you seen the Queen? 

Thousands of eager lips 
voiced this question, — thou- 
sands of eager eyes were turned 
towards the stately towers of 
Westminster, rising darkly out- 
lined like fine bronze against the cold grey sky, 
on that bleak and bitter feast-day of St. Valen- 
tine, 1901, when Edward VII., King of Great 
Britain and Emperor of India, went in state to 
open his first Parliament. Thousands of loving 
and loyal hearts, still heavy with grief for the 
Joss of Victoria the Good, so long the Mother 
of her people, grew warm with tenderness 
and devotion as the whispered name “ Alex- 
andra ! ” ran from mouth to mouth, and the 
old fiery chant, so gloriously sung by the last 
great Poet- Laureate of England, came back 
like a wave breaking on the shore of many 
memories : — 



39 


000O0O0OOO0O0OO0OO0O0O00O ©©©©00O000000000OO00©©©®© 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


“ g>eaT*mg’£ saunter from ofccr tlje oca, 
^Icranora ! 

grnron, ano jporman, ana 2Daue are me, 

115uc all of us 2T>aues m our toclcome of tljee, 
TleranOra ! 

Meleome tier ttjunUero of fort ano of fleet, 
Welcome tjer tljunDermg ctieer of tlje street ! 

#1), for to tljc people, ano fop to tlje SOjroue, 
Come to us, lofce us, ano make us pour otim ! ” 

For had she not obeyed and fulfilled the 
Poet’s invocation ? Had she not, indeed, come 
to us, and loved us, and made us her own ? 
And had we not taken her in all her youth and 
hope and beauty, and made her our own in 
turn ? — our own Princess of Loving-Kindness, 
dear to all, honoured by all as one of the purest 
and noblest figures in all the history of English 
Royal annals? And so on this St. Valentine’s 
Day of never-to-be-forgotten memory, the peo- 
ple gathered in multitudes to see her pass, — 
transformed from Princess into Queen — a 
change which, though always predestined, 
seemed at the time singular and as much at- 
tended by grief as by gladness. For she — like 
all the people who were one with her in truth 
40 


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THE SOUL OF QUEEN ALEXANDRA 


and loyalty to the Throne — mourned the loss 
of the greatest, best, and wisest Sovereign that 
had ever reigned in England since the days of 
Elizabeth, — one, who to the diplomacy, tact, 
and foresight of Elizabeth, had added the sweet- 
ness, gentleness, and love of a pure womanly 
heart, ever in sympathy with the joys and griefs 
of her people. Affection, curiosity, and compas- 
sion struggled for the mastery in the minds of 
the vast crowds that watched the progress of the 
gorgeous State Coach, drawn by the dainty 
cream ponies which had but lately, alas ! drawn 
the dead Queen through the great city to her 
last rest ; and people standing a-tiptoe strove to 
peer through the glass on all sides, not so much 
to catch a glimpse of the King’s familiar face as 
to note the expression on the delicate fair 
features of his Consort. It was difficult to see 
her within the cumbrous painted and gilded 
equipage, — the King’s brilliant uniform and 
glittering orders made his figure more conspic- 
uous than hers ; moreover, his features were so 
well known to the crowds who had long loved 
him as their “ popular ” prince, that no one was 
put to any great strain to recognize him. But 
the shrinking, graceful form at his side was less 


©GGOOO0O00O0OOG0OOGO00OG0 >J< ©OOOGOGOO00OOOO0G0GGGO0O0 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


distinct in outline — one saw a blur of sable robes 
and long-flowing veil, the gleam of jewels, a wist- 
ful face with soft grieved eyes, and that was all. 

Inside the House of Lords, however, the im- 
pression was different. There, amid the rustle 
of black silken robes, and the sweep of mourn- 
ing veils and funereal plumes, the glisten of dia- 
monds, the milky sheen of pearls, and the 
almost startling relief of colour afforded by the 
scarlet robes of the Peers, came the very incar- 
nation of majesty ; — of grief and beauty in one, 
when the “ Sea-King’s daughter ” stood pale and 
proud beside her Husband and King, — when 
the Royal robes of ruby velvet and snowy 
ermine fell around that slight regal figure clad 
in solemn black, almost crushing it with a weight 
of splendour, and when the sweet eyes gazed out 
on the crowded gathering of the world’s most 
brilliant personages of rank and influence with a 
gravity not unmingled with pain. A fitting 
partner for the Throne of the greatest Emperor 
on earth. 

" stooD bestoe tym like a ratnboto bratoeo, 
Within some storm, tobcn scarce its sbabotos 
bast 

ifrom ttje blue paths of tlje stotft sun babe fam ” 

42 


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THE SOUL OF QUEEN ALEXANDRA 


There was present one who looked upon her 
at that moment, and looking, saw her with other 
eyes than those of mere humanity, — saw her as 
earthly sight alone can never see her, — in the 
clear undarkened air of psychic vision which 
brings all things, all circumstances, all seeming 
shapes into the true prospective of the Soul’s 
distinct and unerring observation. And in that 
Light she stood uplifted; — the symbols of 
earth’s passing power and splendour were no 
longer visible — the crowding forms around her 
were as drifting shadows, dimly outlined or van- 
ishing altogether into darker space. High above 
them all her Spirit rose transfigured; — revealed 
in its true beauty, — transformed by a Thought, 
— and hallowed by a Prayer ! No longer robed 
in sombre mourning garb, her figure shone re- 
splendent, clad in the dazzling whiteness of an 
Angel’s wearing; — Royal robes of Heaven’s 
imperishable gold enfolded her as with wings, — 
and on her brow sparkled the deathless Crown 
of many bravely-endured mortal sorrows turned 
into jewels of immortal joy ! Unconscious of 
the living radiating light surrounding her she 
stood; serene and prayerful, — watchful and 
patient, — fearless and resigned, — loving and 


©OOG00000 ©9©0©O0G)0©O0©GG0 ©0GO0OO0OG)OO0G©OG)O©©OO©GO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


true; and like the breaking of great waves upon 
the shifting sand, came the murmur of a mighty 
people's praise, — the grateful blessings of brave 
soldiers far away, fighting for England’s honour, 
— the tenderness of children’s love — the thank- 
fulness of struggling souls rescued from sin and 
death ! Pure thoughts, pure words, pure deeds 
formed a glittering triumphal arch of rainbow 
hues above her, attracting with an irresistible 
force the unseen powers of good, which, through 
all clouds of doubt and chance, do yet flash 
their star-like rays of hope upon the world, 
inspiring the mind of humanity to fresh work, 
ambition, and endeavour. To her — a Queen 
of Fair Virtues — ascended the earnest, though 
unworded petitions of all good women for guid- 
ance and example, — to her their looks were 
turned for leadership through the devious and 
difficult ways of life, — for to them she seemed 

“ jTijs like a beacon toiler abobe tbe toabes 
tempest,” 

War or peace, — loss or gain, — defeat or 
victory — these earthly incidents of life passed 
over her as the mere brief reflex of a darkness 
on her brightness, and touched her not at all. 

44 


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THE SOUL OF QUEEN ALEXANDRA 


Plainly could it be seen that she had known sor- 
row ; plainly was it evident that she had shed 
tears. She had clasped the Cross to her breast 

— she had testified her faith in God by a grand 
resignation to the Divine Will. But these 
things made the stature of her Soul so much the 
fairer, that such marks of pain and loss could 
only be perceived in her as indications of more 
perfect gladness. So did she shine; — pictured 
for a fleeting moment in the clear mirror of 
spiritual perception, with all the colours of un- 
fading Truth about her, and seen, not “ as in a 
glass darkly, but face to face,” - — a visible Queen 
indeed, of a far wider realm than Imperial Brit- 
ain ! For Imperial Britain may have its day 
like Imperial Rome — may run its course equally 
to decay and death, — but the Empire of love 
and purity, of unselfishness and goodness, of 
truth and kindness, is built up on eternal foun- 
dations and can never end ! And within that 
Empire the Soul of Queen Alexandra is crowned 
more gloriously than with the crown of England, 

— from every quarter of it she commands more 
subjects than any earthly kingdom holds, — and 
those who cannot penetrate into this boundless 
and everlasting realm of hers, do not know her, 

45 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


and cannot say they have ever looked upon 
her ! And when the King’s first Parliament 
was opened — when all the “great” in rank and 
wealth and fashion had pushed and scrambled 
and hustled themselves out of Westminster, 
commenting audibly and flippantly on the looks, 
manners and deportment of their Majesties, how 
many among them, we may wonder, had seen 
the veil of earthly things withdrawn and the 
appearance of that lovely Soul disclosed as God 
sees it, in all the fairest portraiture of a truly 
Royal Presence ? 

One — certainly one — out of all the brilliant 
assemblage had truly “ seen ” the Queen ; — 
and that one who was so permitted to behold 
her as she actually is in the watchful sight of 
Heaven, remembers every line, every grace, 
every touch of colour and beauty in the gracious 
Spirit-picture, — and is glad — for England’s 
sake ! 


GG0GOOG)GGGGOGXD©GOCDGG©GG00 OOGOOOOGGGOOOOOOGOOOOOOOO 

A CHRISTMAS CAROLAT 
SANDRINGHAM 


47 



OOGOGJOGOGXIXDOGGGGGGQOOOOGG ^ OO©OO0©GG©O©©G©0©0GO©©©00 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
AT SANDRINGHAM 



REFRAIN 

Sabe pout: gracious 
jeStieS, — 

lift nothing pou Oismap, 
ifiemembcr Christ our ^abiour 
IBaS born on Christmas 


Che gates of 3l?cabcn Sucre openeb then, 

5tnb the lijeralb^SlingelS came — 

Ringing “ Idcacc on earth, gooDtoill to men ” 
31n blcSSeD fesu’S $ame ; 

25ut tf)C bJorlb is forgetting that Sacreb Song, 
iijearb bp tlje shepljtrbS of olb, 

3tnb, Despite Christ’s birth, there is toar on 
cartfj, 

3Enb tooibeS in tlje Raster’s folb ; — 

3Enb for this cause toe arc Sent to pou, — 

Co gibe pou a toorb of cheer — 

<jBob Sabc pour gracious Majesties, 

Stub Stub pou a Ijappp fear ! 

4 49 


00OO0G00O0G0GGO0O0OOOOO0G ►{< ©OOOOOO0OOG0GO3OGGGGGG00O 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


€l)tec tocarp trabellerS ate toe, 

Stub at pout boot toe Stanb, — 

We tome from an Empire of tljc free, 

311 far? off oSoIbcn Slanb — 

31 3lan& tofjere rfjc bear ones pou Ijabe lob’b 
gfnb tost for a parting breatf), 

31 re aS angels Bright, in tfjc perfect ligtjt 
£>f a life tfjat ftnotos no bcatfj. 

3ln Ijcabcnlp etjoir tljcp Sing toitf) us, 

Cfjeir boiccs pou map fjear — 

“ 4Bob Sabe pour gracious Majesties, 

3lnb senb pou a 25lcSscb gear ! ” 


from pour fjeart’s gentle creellente 
311 toelcome toe tooulb toin ! 

U3c prap pou Senb us not from Bence, 

25ut let us enter in. 

JDoor are our garments, — no Store toe keep 
<£>f tocaltf) for ttjc toorlb to See, — 

25ut tljc names toe Bear are forcbcr fair — 

“ f aitB, — litope, — anb Cfjaritp ! ” 
listers bclob’b of Cljrist, toe come 
fto Sing pou a carol dear, — 

“ 4Bob Sabe pour gracious Majesties, 

Stub gibe pou a IfSappp gear ! ” 


GGO00O0G0OO0GOQG0OGGG©©©© GOG0OGQ0OG0OGOGGGSGGGGGG0 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 


ilttoar to us pout pouScpola gate, — 

J©itp pou toe Seep to atocll ; — 
f©c ate pout 3Engcl guaras of state, 

3Ena toe toill Spicia pou tocll ! 

|5o foes Spall parm pou, no ills befall, 

3©pilc toe in pour pome remain, 

3Cnti tpe lope of tpc granti, stocet dEmpitc? 
3tanP 

£pall glotifp pout reign ! 

Sl^ap Sesu’s lobe ana peace protect 
Sou ana pout cpiiarett acat ! — 

«£?oa sabc pout gracious Majesties 
jfor manp a gooa |i5cto fear ! 


REFRAIN 

<©oa Sabe pout gracious fflajeStieS, 

3tet notpiitg pou aismap, 

’€ is life to ftttoto tpat Cprist out Stora 
t©aS Pont on (JptiStmas SDap ! 


S 1 






GGOOGK3GGGGOGO0GG0GGQOQOQO >J< OOGGGG0G00O0GOOGGGOOGGG©© 


A OUESTION OF FAITH 


53 































































OOGGGGO0G0GGO0O0GO0OOG00O >J< ©©OOO0GXDOOOOG0OGOGOGGOQOO 


A QUESTION OF FAITH 

PROPOUNDED TO ALL WHOM IT MAY 
CONCERN 


EFORE fully entering on this 
paper, I should like those who 
may be inclined to read it to 
understand very distinctly, once 
and for all, that I am a Chris- 
tian. I am sorry that the too- 
hasty misjudgment of others compels me to 
assert the fact. The term “ atheist ” has been 
applied to me by several persons who should 
know better, — for it is an absolutely false, and 
I may add, libellous accusation. That it has 
been uttered unthinkingly and at random by 
idle chatterers who have never read a line I have 
written I can well believe, — nevertheless it is a 
mischievous rumour, as senseless as wicked. 
Poor and inadequate as my service is, and must 
ever be, still I am a follower of the Christian 
Faith, as expounded in Christ' s own words to His 
disciples. I believe that Christian Faith to be 
the grandest and purest in the world, — the 
most hopeful, the most strengthening, the most 
55 



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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


soul-supporting and ennobling religion ever 
taught to humanity. To me, in hours of the 
bitterest trial, it has proved not “ a reed shaken 
by the wind” — but a rock firmer than the 
foundations of the world, against which the 
waves of tribulation break in vain and disperse 
to naught, — and when brought face to face 
with imminent death as I have been, it has kept 
me fearless and calm. I know — because I 
have experienced — its priceless worth, its truth, 
its grand up-lifting-power ; and it is because 
this simple Christian Faith is so dear to me, 
and so much a part of my every-day life, that 
I venture to ask a few straight questions of 
those who, calling themselves Christians, seem 
to have lost sight altogether of their Master 
and His commands. I like people who are 
consistent. Inconsistency of mind is like un- 
cleanliness of body; it breeds discomfort and 
disease. And in this wonderful age of ours, 
in which there is so little real “ greatness,” — 
when even the tried heroism of our leading 
statesmen and generals is sullied by contempti- 
ble jealousies and petty discussions of a quarrel- 
some nature, — when the minds of men are 
bent chiefly on money-making and mechanical 
56 


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A QUESTION OF FAITH 


inventions to save labour (labour being most 
unfortunately estimated as a curse instead of 
the blessing it indubitably is), I find incon- 
sistency the chief ingredient of all modern 
thought. Things are jumbled up in a hetero- 
geneous mass, without order, distinction or 
merit. And the principal subject on which 
men and women are most wildly, glaringly 
inconsistent is that which is supposed to be the 
guiding rule of life — religion. I should like 
to try and help settle this vexed question. I 
want to find out what the Christian Empire 
means by its “ faith.” I want to know how 
our King proposes to enact his magnificent 
part of “ Defender of the Faith.” I venture 
to lift up my voice as the voice of one alone 
in the wilderness, and to send it with as clear a 
pitch and true a tone as I can across the sea of 
discussion, — the stormy ocean of angry and 
contradictory tongues, — and I ask bluntly and 
straightly, “ What is it all about? Do you 

BELIEVE YOUR RELIGION, OR DO YOU NOT?” 

It is an honest question, and demands an 
honest answer. Put it to yourselves plainly. 

Do YOU BELIEVE WITH ALL YOUR HEART AND 
SOUL IN THE FAITH YOU PROFESS TO FOLLOW ? 

57 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Again — put it with equal plainness — Do 

YOU NOT BELIEVE ONE IOTA OF IT ALL, AND ARE 
YOU ONLY FOLLOWING IT AS A MATTER OF 
CUSTOM AND FORM ? 

Let us, my reader or readers, be round and 
frank with each other. If you are a Christian, 
your religion is to believe that Christ was a 
human Incarnation or Manifestation of an Eter- 
nal God, born miraculously of the Virgin Mary ; 
that He was crucified in the flesh as a criminal, 
died, was buried, rose again from the dead, and 
ascended to heaven as God and Man in one, 
and there perpetually acts as Mediator between 
mankind and Divine Justice. Remember, that 
if you believe this you believe in the PURELY 
SUPERNATURAL. But let anyone talk or 
write of the purely supernatural as existent in 
any other form save this one of the Christian 
Faith, and you will probably be the first to scout 
the idea of the supernatural altogether. Why ? 
Where is your consistency ? If you believe in 
one thing which is supernatural, why not in 
others ? 

Now let us consider the other side of the 
question. You who do not believe, but still 
pretend to do so, for the sake of form and 
58 


con- 


G000O0OGGGGOO0OGOO0O0OOG0 OGGXDGGGG OG00GOGGGGG0OOGGO 

A QUESTION OF FAITH 


ventional custom, do you realize what you are? 
You consider yourself virtuous and respectable, 
no doubt ; but facts are facts, and you, in your 
pretence at faith, are nothing but a liar. The 
honest sunshiny face of day looks on you and 
knows you for a hypocrite — a miserable unit 
who is trying in a vague, mad fashion to cheat 
the Eternal Forces. Be ashamed of lying, man 
or woman, whichever you be ! Stand out of 
the press and say openly that you do not be- 
lieve ; so at least shall you be respected. Do 
not show any religious leanings either to one 
side or the other “ for the sake of custom” — 
and then we shall see you as you are, and refrain 
from branding you “ liar.” I would say to all, 
clergy and laity, who do not in their hearts be- 
lieve in the Christian Faith, “ Go out of the 
Church ; stand aside and let us see who is who. 
Let us have space in which to count up those 
who are willing to sacrifice all their earthly well- 
being for Christ’s sake (for it amounts to noth- 
ing less than this), and those who prefer this 
world to the next.” I will not presume to cal- 
culate as to which will form the larger majority. 
I only say it is absurd to keep up churches, and 
an enormous staff of clergy, archbishops, bishops, 
59 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


popes, cardinals, and the like, for a faith in 
which we do not truly, absolutely, and en- 
tirely believe. It is a mere pageant of inflated 
falsehood, and as such must be loathsome in the 
sight of God, — this always with the proper 
proviso, “ if there indeed be a God.” Yet, 
apart from a God altogether, it is degrading to 
ourselves to play the hypocrite with the serious 
facts of life and death. Therefore, I ask you 
again — Do you believe, or do you not believe ? 
My object in proposing the question at all is to 
endeavour to show the spiritual and symbolic 
basis upon which the Christian Faith rests, and 
the paramount necessity there is for accepting it 
in its pristine purity and beauty, if we would be 
wise. To grasp it thoroughly, we must view 
it not as it now seems to look to us through 
the darkening shadows of sectarianism, BUT 
AS IT WAS ORIGINALLY FOUNDED. 
The time has come upon us that is spoken of in 
the New Testament, when “ one shall be taken 
and the other left,” and the sorting of the sheep 
from the goats has already commenced. It can 
be said with truth that most of our Churches, as 
they now exist, are diametrically opposed to the 
actual teachings of their Divine Founder. It 
60 


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A QUESTION OF FAITH 


can be proved that in our daily lives we live ex- 
actly in the manner which Christ Himself would 
have most sternly condemned. And when all 
the proofs are put before you plainly, and 
without disguise or hyperbole, in the simplest 
and straightest language possible, I shall again 
ask you, “ DO YOU BELIEVE, OR DO 
YOU NOT BELIEVE?” If you do be- 
lieve, declare it openly and live accordingly ; 
if you do not believe, in God’s name leave 
off lying! 

The Symbolism of the Christian Faith has 
been and is still very much lost sight of, owing 
to the manner in which the unimaginative and 
unthinking majority of people will persist in 
looking at things from a directly physical, ma- 
terialistic, and worldly point of view. But if we 
take the life and character of Christ as a Sym- 
bolic representation of that Perfect Manhood 
which alone can be pleasing to God, — which 
alone can be worthy to call the Divine Source 
of Creation “ Father! ” — some of our difficul- 
ties may possibly be removed. Christ’s Gospel 
was first proclaimed in the East, — and the 
Eastern peoples were accustomed to learn the 
great truths of religion by a “ symbolic,” or alle- 


©©©©00O0O0OOO0©©©©©©©©©©© ►£< ©00O0O00OG00O00GG000O0GQG) 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


gorical method of instruction. Christ Himself 
knew this, — for He taught them many things 
by parables. 

We shall do well to keep this spirit of East- 
ern symbolism in mind when considering the 
“ miraculous ” manner of Christ’s birth. Note 
the extreme poverty, humility, well-nigh shame 
attending it! Joseph doubted Mary, and was 
“ minded to put her away privily.” Mary her- 
self doubted the Angelic Annunciation, and said, 
“ How shall this be ? ” 

Thus, even with those most closely concerned, 
a cloud of complete disbelief and distrust 
environed the very thought, suggestion, and 
announcement of God-in-Man. 

It should be remembered that the Evangelists 
Mark and John, have no account of a miracu- 
lous birth at all. John, supreme as a Symbolist, 
the “ disciple whom Jesus loved,” wrote, “The 
WORD was made flesh and dwelt among us.” 

Securing this symbolic statement for ourselves, 
we find that two of the chief things which we 
attach importance to in this world — namely, 
birth and position — are altogether set aside in 
this humanizing of the WORD, and are of no 
account whatever. And that the helpless Child 

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lying in a manger on that first Christmas 
morning of the world, was, despite poverty and 
humility, foredestined to possess more power 
than all the kings and emperors ever born in the 
purple. 

Thus, the first lessons we get from the birth 
of Christ are — Faith and Humility — and these 
are the whole spirit of His Divine doctrine. 

Now, — How does this spirit pervade our 
social community to-day, after nearly two thou- 
sand years of constant preaching and teaching? 

Look round on the proud array of the self- 
important, pugnacious, quarrelsome, sectarian, 
and intolerant so-called “ servants of the Lord.” 
The Pope of Rome, and his Cardinals and his 
Monsignori ! The Archbishop of Canterbury, 
and his Bishops, Deacons, Deans and Chapters, 
and the like ! The million “ sects ” — and all 
the cumbrous paraphernalia of the wealthy and 
worldly “ ordained ” to preach the Gospel ! Ask 
them for “ proofs ” of faith ! For signs of 
“humility”! For evidences of any kind to 
show that they are in very soul and life and 
truth the followers of that Master who never 
knew luxury, and had not where to lay His 
head ! 


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And you, among the laity, how can you pray, 
or pretend to pray to a poor and despised “ Man 
of Sorrow,” in these days, when with every act 
and word of your life you show your neighbours 
that you love Money better than anything else 
in earth or in heaven ! — when even you who are 
millionaires only give and do just as much 
as will bring you notoriety or purchase you a 
“ handle ” to your names ! Why do you bend 
your hypocritical heads on Sundays to the Name 
of “ Jesus,” who (so far as visible worldly position 
admitted) was merely the son of a carpenter, and 
followed the carpenter’s trade, while on week- 
days you make no secret of your scorn of, or in- 
difference to the “ working-man,” and more often 
than not spurn the beggar from your gates ! 

Be consistent, friends 1 — be consistent ! I F 
YOU BELIEVE IN CHRISTIANITY, you 
must also believe in these three things : — 

1. The virtue of poverty. 

2. The dignity of labour. 

3. The excellence of simplicity. 

Rank, wealth, and all kinds of ostentation 
should be to you pitiable — not enviable. 

IS IT SO ? Do you prefer poverty with a 
pure conscience to ill-gotten riches ? Would 
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A QUESTION OF FA IT H 


you rather be a faithful servant of Christ or 
a slave of Mammon ? Give the answer to your 
own soul, — but give it honestly — if you can ! 

If you find, on close self-examination, that 
you love yourself, your own importance, your 
position, your money, your household goods 
and clothes, your place in what you call 
“ society,” more than the steady working for and 
following of Christ, — YOU ARE NOT A 
CHRISTIAN. That being the case, be brave 
about it! Say what you are, and do not pretend 
to be what you are not ! 

It ought to be quite easy for you to come to 
a clear understanding with yourselves. Take 
down the New Testament and read it. Read it 
as closely and carefully as you read your cheap 
newspapers, and with as much eagerness to find 
out “ news.” For news there is in it, and of 
grave import. Not news affecting the things of 
this world, which pass like a breath of wind and 
are no more, — but news which treats of Eternal 
Facts, outlasting the creation and re-creation of 
countless worlds. Read this book for yourselves, 
I say, rather than take it in portions on Sundays 
only from your clergy, — and devote your earnest 
attention to the simple precepts uttered by Christ 
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Himself. If you are a Christian, you believe 
Christ was an Incarnation of God, — then does it 
not behove you to listen when God speaks ? 
Or is it a matter of indifference to you that the 
Maker and Upholder of millions of universes 
should have condescended to come and teach you 
how to live? If it is, then stand forth and let 
us see you ! Do not attend places of worship 
merely to be noticed by your neighbours. For, 
— apart from such conduct being strictly forbid- 
den by Christ, — you insult other persons by your 
presence as a liar and hypocrite. This is what 
you may call a u rude ” statement ; plain-speak- 
ing and truth-telling are always called “ rude/’ 
You will find the utmost plain-speaking in the 
Gospels upon which you profess to pin your 
faith. If you have any “ fancy Ritualism ” lurk- 
ing about you, you will discover that cc forms ” 
are not tolerated by the Saviour of mankind. 

“ All their works they do for to be seen of 
men ; they make broad their phylacteries and 
enlarge the borders of their garments.” 

“ Shows” of religion are severely censured 
and condemned by Him whose commands we 
assume to try and obey, — we can scarcely find 
even a peg whereon to hang an excuse for our 
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practice of praying in public, while “ vain repeti- 
tions” of prayer are expressly prohibited. We 
shall find nothing in the New Testament to con- 
done the “ evening dress” services of a certain 
West-end clergyman, who shall be nameless; — 
or to countenance “ dramatic” recitations from 
the steps of a Church chancel, by an actress 
standing boldly there with her back to the Com- 
munion Table. I repeat — Read the Four 
Gospels ; they are very much mis-read in these 
days, and even in the Churches are only gab- 
bled. See if your private and personal lives are 
in keeping with the commands there set down. 
If not, cease to play Humbug with the Eterni- 
ties ; — they will avenge themselves upon your 
hypocrisy in a way you dream not of! “Who- 
soever excuses himself accuses himself.” 

The true Christian faith has no dogma, — no 
form — no sect. It starts with Christ as God-in- 
man, in an all-embracing love for God and His 
whole Creation, with an explicit and clear under- 
standing (as symbolized so emphatically in the 
Crucifixion and Resurrection) that each individ- 
ual soul is an immortal germ of life, in process 
of eternal development, to which each new 
“experience” of thought, whether on this planet 
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or others, adds larger powers, wider intelligence, 
and intensified consciousness. There are no 
“isms” in this faith — no bigotry, and no intol- 
erance. It leaves no ground for discussion. 

“This is my commandment, — That ye love 
one another as I have loved you.” 

It is all there, — simple, straight, and pure — 
no more, no less than this. 

“ Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of 
trouble, attempts what is above its strength, 
pleads no excuse of impossibility. It is, there- 
fore, able to undertake all things, and it com- 
pletes many things and warrants them to take 
effect where he who does not love would faint 
and lie down. Love is watchful, and, sleeping, 
slumbereth not. Though weary, it is not tired ; 
though alarmed, it is not confounded, but, as 
a lively flame and burning torch, it forces its 
way upwards, and securely passes all. . . . Love 
is born of God and cannot rest but in God, 
above all created things.” 

Is OUR Gospel of modern life and society to- 
day one of love or hate ? Do we help each other 
more readily than we kick each other down? 
Are we more eager to say kind things of each 
other or cruel ? Do we prefer to praise or to 
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slander our neighbours ? Is it not absolutely 
true that “ a cruel story runs on wheels, and every 
hand oils the wheels as they run ? ” Can we 
leave anybody alone without covert or open 
detraction from his or her merits ? Even in the 
most ordinary, every-day life do we not see people 
taking a malicious, insane delight in making their 
next-door neighbours as uncomfortable as possi- 
ble in every petty way they can ? These persons, 
by the way, are generally the class who go to 
Church most regularly, and are constant Com- 
municants. Do they not by their profane 
attempt to assimilate the malignity of their dis- 
positions with the gospel of Christ, deserve to be 
considered as mere blasphemers of the Faith ? 

Yet, as a matter of fact, it is much easier to love 
than to hate. Love is the natural and native 
air of the immortal soul. “ While we fulfil the 
law of love in all our thoughts and actions, we 
cannot fail to grow.” Hatred, discontent, envy, 
and pessimism cramp all the higher faculties of 
the mind, and very often actually breed disease 
in the body. To love all creation is to draw the 
responsive health and life of creation into one’s 
own immortal cognizance. u Love easily loosens 
all our bonds. There is no discomfort that will 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


not yield to its sovereign power.” But it must 
not be a selfish love. It must be that Love 
which is the key-note of the Christian Faith — 
“ Love one another as I have loved you.” 

It follows very plainly that if we truly loved 
one another there would be no wars, no envyings, 
no racial hatreds, no over-reaching of our brethren 
for either wealth, place, or power. There would 
be no such hells as the Lancashire factories, for 
example, where, as Allen Clarke graphically tells 
us , 1 “ Amidst that sickeningjerry-jumble ofcheap 
bricks and cheaper British industry, over a hun- 
dred thousand men, women, and children toil and 
exist, sweating in the vast, hot, stuffy mills and 
sweltering forges — going, when young, to the 
smut-surrounded schools to improve their minds, 
and trying to commune with the living God in 
the dreary, dead, besmirched churches and grimy 
puritanical chapels ; growing up stunted, breed- 
ing thoughtlessly, dying prematurely, knowing 
not, nor dreaming, except for here and there a 
solitary one cursed with keen sight and sensitive 
soul, of aught better and brighter than this 
shrieking, steaming sphere of slime and sorrow.” 
Contrast this picture with a crowded “ supper 

1 “ Effects of the Factory System.” — Allen Clarke. 

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A QUESTION OF FAITH 


night ” at the Carlton or any other fashionable 
Feeding-place of London, and then maintain, if 
you dare, that the men and women who are 
responsible for two such differing sides of life 
are “ Christians/’ 

England is, I am told, at the present juncture 
in danger of becoming “ Romanized.” Priests 
and nuns of various “ orders,” who have been 
thrust out of France and Spain for intermeddling, 
are seeking refuge here, in company with the 
organ-grinders and other folk who have been 
found unnecessary in their own countries. From 
Paris official news was cabled on September iith 
as follows : — 

JESUIT EXODUS FROM FRANCE. 

Paris, Wednesday, September nth. 

It is announced officially that by the ist of next 
month not a single Jesuit will be left in France. Most 
of them are emigrating to England, and will make 
Canterbury their headquarters. — Dalziel. 

France will not have the Jesuits; may it be 
asked why we are to have them ? It is England’s 
proud privilege to be an international workhouse 
for all the decrepit of the world, and for this 
cause a happy hunting ground is open to Rome 

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among these same decrepit. There is no creed 
in the world which is better adapted for those 
who are morally weak and frightened of them- 
selves. All the millionaires who have gotten 
their goods by fraud, can, by leaving the greater 
part of these goods to Rome, secure a reserved 
seat in Rome’s Heaven, with a special harp and 
crown. All the women with “ soul-affinities ” 
other than lawful, can, after a considerable wallow 
in social mire, enter the Church of Rome, and 
after confession, be “ cleansed ” sufficiently to 
begin again a new life approved of the saints. 
All the spiritualists and faith-healers can find 
support for their theories with Rome, — and the 
Roman hell, full of large snakes and much brim- 
stone, is a satisfactory place to consign one’s 
enemies to, when we have quite put aside Christ’s 
command, “ Love one another.” Altogether 
Romanism is calculated to appeal to a very large 
majority of persons through the sensuous and 
emotional beauty of its ritual ; — it is a kind of 
heavenly narcotic which persuades the believer 
to resign his own will into the hypnotic manage- 
ment of the priests. The church is made gor- 
geous with soft lights and colours, — glorious 
music resounds through the building, and the 
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mind drowses gently under the influence of the 
Latin chanting, which we need not follow unless 
we like, — we are permitted to believe that a 
large number of saints and angels are specially 
looking after us, and the sweet Virgin Mary is 
ever ready with outstretched hands to listen to 
all our little griefs and vexations. It is a beauti- 
ful and fascinating creed, hallowed by long anti- 
quity, graced by deeds of romance and chivalry, 
sanctified by the memories of great martyrs and 
pure saints, and even in these degenerate days, 
glorified by the noble-hearted men and women 
who follow it without bigotry or intolerance, 
doing good everywhere, tending the sick, com- 
forting the sorrowful, and gathering up the little 
children into their protecting arms, even as Jesus 
Himself gathered them. It would need an 
angel's pen dipped in fire to record the true 
history of a faithful, self-denying priest of the 
Roman Church, who gives up his own advantage 
for the sake of serving others — who walks fear- 
lessly into squalid dens reeking with fever, and 
sets the pure Host between the infected lips of 
the dying, — who combats with the Demon of 
Drink, and drags up the almost lost reprobate 
out of that horrible chasm of vice and destruction. 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


No one could ever give sufficient honour to such 
a man for all the immense amount of good he 
does, unostentatiously and without hope of re- 
ward. But many men like himself exist equally 
in the English Church as the Roman, — in the 
Presbyterian Church, in the Greek Church, in 
the Buddhist temples, among the Quakers, 
“ Plymouth Brethren,” and other sects — among 
the followers of Mahomet or of Confucius. For 
there are good men and good women in every 
Church, faithful to the SPIRIT OF CHRIST, 
and therefore, “ Christians,” even if called Jews 
or Hindoos. 

Personally, I have no more objection or dis- 
like to Romanism than I have to any other 
“ ism ” ever formulated. From a student’s 
point of view I admire the Roman Catholic 
priesthood, because they understand their busi- 
ness, and thoroughly know the material with 
which they have to deal. Wise as their 
Egyptian prototypes of old, they decline to 
unveil “ mysteries ” to the uninitiated vulgar — 
therefore the laity are not expected to read the 
Bible for themselves. Knowing the terrors of 
a guilty conscience, they are able to intimidate 
the uneducated ruffian of both sexes more suc- 
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A QUESTION OF FAITH 


cessfully than all the majesty of the law. 
Thoroughly aware of the popular delight in 
“ shows,” they organize public processions on 
feast days, just as the “ Masters of the Stars ” 
used to do in Memphis, where, by the way (as 
those who take the trouble to study ancient 
Egyptian records will discover), our latest in- 
ventions, such as the electric light, the tele- 
phone, the phonograph, and many other 
modern utilities were used by the priests for 
“ miraculous ” effects. From the Egyptian 
priesthood we derive the beginnings of scientific 
discovery ; — to the early Roman Catholic priest- 
hood we owe the preservation of much history 
and learning. The one is, intellectually speak- 
ing, a lineal descendant of the other, and both 
-deserve the utmost respect for their immense 
capacity as Rulers of the Ignorant. 

The greater majority of persons have no force 
of will and no decided opinions, but only an 
undersense of coward fear or vexation at the 
possible unsuccessful or damaging result of their 
own ill-doings. Hence the power of the Roman 
Catholic dogma. It is not Christianity, it has 
not the delicate subtlety of Greek mythology, it 
is simply Pagan Rome engrafted on the con- 
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version and repentance of the Jew, Peter, who, 
in the time of trial, “ knew not the Man.” 
Curiously enough, it is just the “ Man,” the real 
typical Christ, the pure, strong God-in-humanity 
who is still “ not known ” in the Roman 
Catholic ritual. There are prayers to the 
“ Sacred Heart” and to other physical attributes 
of Jesus, — just as in old Rome there were 
prayers to the physical attributes of the various 
deities, but of the perfect “ Man,” as seen in 
Christ's dauntless love of truth and exposure of 
shams, His scourging of the thieves out of the 
holy temple, His grand indifference to the 
world’s malice and hatred, and his conquest 
over death and the grave, — of these things we 
are given no clear or helpful image. Never- 
theless, it is the “ Man ” we most need, — the 
“ Man ” who came to us to teach us how to 
live; — the brother, the friend, the close 
sympathizer, — the great Creator of all life 
mingling Himself with his human creation in a 
beautiful; tender, loving, wise, and all-pitiful 
Spirit, wherein is no hate, no revenge, and 
no intolerance ! This is the Christ ; — this is 
His Christianity. Romanism, on the contrary, 
allows plenty of space for those who want to 
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hate as well as to love, and it is as helpful or as 
useless as any of the thousand and one dogmas 
built up around Christ which include bad pas- 
sions as well as divine aspirations. The danger 
of such a creed gaining too much ground in 
England, the land where our forefathers fought 
against it and trampled it out with their own 
blood and tears, is not because it is a particular 
form of religious faith, but because it is an in- 
tolerant system of secret government. This has 
been proved over and over again throughout 
history. Its leaders have not shown themselves 
as gentle as pagans by any means, either now or 
in the past, and intolerance in any form, from 
any sect, is no part of the Constitution of a 
free country. 

H ence the real cause of the objection enter- 
tained by millions of persons in the Empire to 
the suggested alteration of the King’s Coro- 
nation oath. Edward VII. is a Constitutional 
monarch, — and the words “ Defender of the 
Faith” imply that he is equally Defender of 
the Constitution. He agrees, when he is 
crowned King of England, to uphold that 
Constitution, — he therefore tacitly rejects all 
that might tend to undermine it, all secret 
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methods of tampering with political, govern- 
mental, or financial matters relating to the 
State. The wording of the Coronation Oath 
is and must be distinctly offensive to thousands 
of excellent persons who are Roman Catholics, 
— nevertheless, in the times when it was so 
worded, the offending terms were made neces- 
sary by the conduct of the Roman Catholics 
themselves. Those times, we are assured, are 
past. We have made progress in education, — 
we are now broad-minded enough to be fair 
to foes as well as to friends. We should, there- 
fore, in common courtesy to a rival Church, 
consent to have this irritating formula altered. 
Perhaps we should, — but is it too much to 
ask our Roman Catholic brethren that they also, 
should, if they wish for tolerance, exhibit it on 
their own side? When our good and beloved 
Queen Victoria died, was it not quite as offensive 
on the part of Pope Leo to publicly state that 
he “could not be represented at the funeral of 
a Protestant Queen” — as it may be for our 
King to publicly repudiate the service of the 
Mass? Nothing could have been more calcu- 
lated to gratuitously wound the feelings of a 
great People than that most unnecessary 
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nouncement made from an historical religious 
centre like the Vatican at a time of universal 
grief for the death of a great Monarch. If the 
Pope’s act was according to the rule of his 
Church, the King’s oath will be taken according 
to the rule of the British Constitution. No 
one could accuse the Pope of any particularly 
“ Christian ” feeling in declining to be repre- 
sented at the last obsequies of the best Queen 
that ever reigned — no one can or will accuse 
King Edward of “ religious intolerance ” if he 
takes the oath as it is set down for him. Both 
acts are matters of policy. When we have the 
foremost peer of England, the Duke of Norfolk, 
forgetting himself so far as to drag his religious 
creed into the political arena and express the 
hope on behalf of all English Catholics that 
the Pope may soon regain temporal power 
(which means, to put it quite plainly, that the 
British Constitution should be disintegrated and 
laid under subjection to Rome), the natural 
consequence of such conduct is that an enor- 
mous majority of perfectly sensible, broad- 
minded people doubt whether it is wise to 
leave an entirely loose rein on the neck of the 
papal Pegasus, and whether it will not be as 
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well, after all, to allow the Coronation oath to 
be spoken by Edward VII. as Victoria, of ever 
glorious memory, spoke it ? For tolerance and 
equity on the one side must be met by toler- 
ance and equity on the other, if a fair under- 
standing is to be arrived at. And when the 
professors of any religious Creed still persecute 
heroism and intellect, as personated in the grand 
and venerable figure of Tolstoy, or refuse 
reverence to the last rite of a noble Queen, 
whose reign was a blessing to the whole world, 
one may be permitted to question their fitness 
for the task of elevating and refining the minds 
and morals of those whom their teachings help 
to influence. And having, as a man of intel- 
lectual and keen perception, the full conscious- 
ness that such unuttered “ questioning ” was 
burning the hearts and minds of thousands, 
Cardinal Vaughan showed himself a master of 
the art of Roman Catholic diplomacy in his 
speech at Newcastle-on-Tyne on September 9th. 
Speaking of the inrush of Roman Catholic 
priests into England, he said : — 

“ A statement from a London paper has been 
running through the provincial Press to the 
effect that I have deliberately outraged public 
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feeling by inviting to England certain French 
religieux, some of those confreres who have 
made themselves particularly obnoxious by their 
constant attacks upon this country. The fact 
is that, upon the passing of the iniquitous law 
against the religious congregations, I gave a 
general invitation to any religieux who might 
wish to come to my diocese until they could 
return to France. Among those who applied 
were three or four fathers, some of those con- 
freres who do not love England. My invitation 
being general, I was not, and am not going to 
make distinctions. None will come who do 
not intend to obey the laws and follow my direc- 
tion. And if there be any who have not been 
sufficiently enlightened to appreciate this coun- 
try while living in France, they are the very 
people who had best come and make our ac- 
quaintance. This is the surest way to change 
their views. But while England boasts of her 
generous hospitality to every kind of refugee, I 
shall certainly offer whatever hospitality I can 
to the men and women who have suffered for 
Christ’s sake. I am too broad an Englishman to 
know any other policy 

“ Broad Englishman ” as the Cardinal may 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


be, he had no pity on the aged Dr. St. George 
Mivart, the circumstances of whose treatment 
are not yet forgotten. 

Speaking of the King’s oath, the Cardinal said 
— “ I entirely and frankly accept the decision 
of the country that the King must be a ‘Protes- 
tant. They believe that this is in some way 
bound up with the welfare of the Empire. 
Without going this length, I am convinced 
that in the present condition of the English 

people, HAUNTED AS THEY ARE BY FEARS AND 

suspicions, it is expedient that the King should 
be of the religion of the overwhelming majority. 
Besides, the King being, in virtue of Royal 
supremacy, head of the State Church, it is im- 
possible that he should be other than a Protes- 
tant. Catholics have no difficulty in paying 
most loyal allegiance to a Protestant Sovereign. 
In this they seem to be of more liberal and 
confiding temper than those who would refuse 
allegiance to a King unless he professed their 
creed. The Catholic has no difficulty, because 
he gives his allegiance and his life, when needed, 
primarily to the civil power ordained of God.” 

(The Cardinal did not pause here to try and 
explain why God has “ ordained ” a Protestant 
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sovereign instead of a Roman Catholic one. Yet 
no doubt he will admit that God knows best.) 

“ The Sovereign represents this power, 
whatever be his religion. Was it not Catholic 
Belgium that placed the Protestant King Leo- 
pold upon the Throne, and gave to him at least 
as hearty a devotion as ever has been shown to 
his Catholic successor ? Other Catholic States 
are ruled by Protestant Sovereigns. And who 
can say that the 16,000,000 of German Catholics 
are a whit less loyal to their German Protestant 
Emperor than the millions who are of the 
Protestant or of no religion ? There are people, 
I believe, pursued by the conviction that we 
Catholics would do anything in the world to get 
a Catholic King upon the Throne ; that the 
Pope would give us leave to tell lies, commit 
perjury, plot, scheme, and kill to any extent for 
such a purpose ; that there is no crime we 
should stick at if the certainty, or even the prob- 
ability of accomplishing such an end were in 
view. Now let me put it to our Protestant 
friends in this way. If the King of England 
were an absolute Monarch, the dictator of the 
laws to be enacted, and his own executive, there 
might be something of vital importance to our 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETIN G 


interests and to those of religion to excite in us 
an intense desire to have a Catholic King. 
Though even then the end could never, even 
remotely, justify the means suggested. But how 
do matters really stand? We have a constitu- 
tional Monarch who is subject to the laws and 
in practice bound to follow the advice of his 
Ministers. A Catholic King, under present cir- 
cumstances, would be a cause of weakness, of 
perpetual difficulty, and of untold anxiety. We 
are far better off as we are. Our dangers and 
grievances, our hopes and our happiness, lie in 
THE WORKING OF THE CONSTITUTION, not in the 
favour or power of any Sovereign. It is the 
Parliament, the House of Commons, that 
we must convert, or at least strive to retain 
within the influence of Christianity. For the 
well-being of this country and the salvation of its 
people depend, above all other human things, 
upon the view that the House of Com- 
mons CAN BE GOT TO TAKE OF ITS DUTY to 

respect and obey the law of Christ. What we 
want is to get the House of Commons to main- 
tain the Christian laws of marriage as the basis 
of society, and to secure to parents and their 
children a true and proper liberty in the matter 

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of Christian education. And in this, remember 
well THAT THE HOUSE OF COMMONS DEPENDS 
NOT UPON THE KlNG, WHATEVER HIS RELIGION, 

but upon ourselves. The people of this 
country must work out their own salvation. 
And here let me point out to you, in passing, 
that the next Session of Parliament may 

SETTLE FOR EVER THE POSITION OF CHRISTIANITY 

in this country. Secondary and middle-class 
education will be thrown into the melting-pot. 
In the process of the devolution of educational 
authority upon county councils, Christianity will 
run the risk of losing rights which it seems to 
have almost secured under the working of the 
Education Department. The adoption of a sin- 
gle clause or principle will have far-reaching and 
most vital results. There will be another edu- 
cational struggle. Struggles will be inevitable 
until the Christian cause, which is becoming 
more and more openly the cause of the majority, 
has permanently triumphed. 

Here we have four distinct “ moves ” on the 
plan of campaign. 

i. “ It is the Parliament, the House of 
Commons, that we must convert.” 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


This means that wherever influence can be 
brought to bear on the return of Roman Catho- 
lic members to the House, that influence will 
not be lacking. 

2. “ The next Session of Parliament may 
settle for ever the position of Chris- 
tianity in this country/’ 

Not Christianity, my lord Cardinal! — for 
that is above all “ settling,” — save with its 
Founder — but that the next Session may open 
the way to a more complete Roman Catholic 
domination is what you venture to hope and to 
work for. 

j. “ The adoption of a sing/e clause or prin- 
ciple will have far-reaching and most 
vital results.” 

Precisely; — so far-reaching and vital that 
England must be on her guard against even a 
cc single clause or principle” which endangers 
the liberty of the subject. 

4. “ Struggles will be inevitable until the 
Christian cause, which is becoming 
more and more openly the cause of the 
majority, has permanently triumphed.” 

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A QUESTION OF FAITH 


For Cardinal Vaughan there is only one 
“ Christian ” cause — viz., the Roman Catholic, 
and he who runs may read the meaning of the 
above phrase without much difficulty. 

Concerning the King’s Declaration Oath, said 
the Cardinal : — 

“ It is not the King who is responsible for the 
drafting or the retention of this detestable Decla- 
ration. It is the Ministry, the Legislature, the 
Constitution that are responsible for its retention, 
and for forcing its acceptance upon the Sovereign. 
The gravamen, therefore, lies against the State, 
not against the person of the King.” 

Quite true ; and it is therefore against the 
State that the Vatican powers must and possibly 
will be directed. 

“ And,” went on the Cardinal, “ do not devout 
clergymen swear every day in good faith to teach 
the Thirty-nine Articles, and find every day that 
conscience and good faith compel them to break 
their engagement by submitting to the Catholic 
Church ? When a man fully realizes that by a 
promise or an oath he has pledged himself to 
something that is unjust, immoral, untrue, the 
engagement ceases to bind.” 

Ergo , the English Church, the particular 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


“Faith” which our King undertakes to defend, 
is “ unjust, immoral, and untrue.” 

And, “ Could Englishmen see themselves as 
others see them, they would be more chary than 
they are of provoking hatred by such wanton 
contempt for the feelings of other nations.” 

Well, Englishmen have every chance of 
seeing themselves as others see them, when they 
hear a “ Christian ” Cardinal accusing them of 
“ wanton contempt for the feelings of other 
nations.” To whom do other nations turn in 
want or distress but England? From whom 
do the famine and fever-stricken in all corners 
of the world obtain relief? England ! Where 
is there any Roman Catholic country that has 
poured out such limitless charity and pity to all 
in sorrow as England ? And why should the 
“ conversion of England” be so valuable to the 
Roman Church ? Merely because of England’s in- 
calculable wealth and incalculable power ! Again, 
concerning the Declaration Oath, the Cardinal 
continued : — “ Now, should it ever happen that 
the King became convinced, by God’s grace, of 
the truth of the doctrines that he abjured, 
of what value would be the Declaration ? 
Absolutely none ! ” 


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A QUESTION OF FAITH 


Of course not, — he would simply cease to be 
King, and would enjoy the complete liberty 
of the subject. 

“ By all means,” went on his Eminence, 
warming with his theme, “ let the majority, if it 
please, stand by the law, which exists apart from 
the Declaration, declaring that to reign over Eng- 
land the Sovereign must be a Protestant. Re- 
tain this law and enforce it; but respect our creed, 
at least just so far as to ignore it, and to leave 
us alone. This, surely, is not a heavy demand 
to make upon the spirit of modern toleration.” 

Then will you not, my lord Cardinal, “ respect 
the creed” established in this country, — the 
religion of the State, — “ just so far as to ignore 
it,” and to leave those who honour it “ alone.” 
“ This, surely, is not a heavy demand to make 
upon the spirit of modern toleration.” It is not 
the Church of England which has started any 
discussion on the Coronation Oath, — the quarrel 
has emanated entirely from the Roman Catholic 
side. And the Cardinal’s speech tends to be 
more aggressive than pacifying. 

“ But if,” he continues, “ after all, there must 
be a Declaration as a sop to certain fears and 
passions , let there be one to the effect that the 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


King is a Protestant — and stop there. Should, 
however, a denunciation of the Catholic religion 
be added to a profession of Protestantism, the 
whole world will understand it ; it will under- 
stand it as a pitiable confession of English fear and 
weakness. And as to ourselves ; well, we shall 
take it as a complimentary acknowledgment by 
our fellow-countrymen of the importance and 
power of faith — that it can not only remove 
mountains, but is capable of moving even the 
fabric of the British Empire itself. But I should 
like to conclude in another strain, and add to 
these observations a resolution to this effect : — 
That the Sovereign of this Empire ought to be 
raised high above the strife of all political and 
religious controversies, the more easily to draw 
to himself and to retain the unabated loyalty of 
all creeds and races within his Empire/’ 

With the latter part of the Cardinal’s ha- 
rangue every one of every creed and class will 
agree, but “ a pitiable confession of English fear 
and weakness ” is a phrase that should never 
have been uttered by an Englishman, whether 
£C broad ” or narrow, cardinal or layman. “ Eng- 
lish fear and weakness ” has never yet been 
known in the world’s history. And as for 
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A QUESTION OF FAITH 


“ moving the fabric of the British Empire,” that 
is only to be done through the possible incom- 
petence or demoralization of its own statesmen, 
— by shiftiness, treachery, and corruption in 
State affairs — and even at this utmost worst, 
though England might be bent, she would never 
be broken. 

But all this has nothing to do with the Chris- 
tian faith as Christ Himself expounded it in 
His own commands. Quarrels and dissensions 
are as far from the teaching of the Divine Mas- 
ter as an earth’s dusthole is far from the centre 
of the sun. Differences of dogma are not ap- 
proved in His eyes. Whether candles shall or 
shall not be set on the altar, whether incense 
shall or shall not be burnt, may be said to rele- 
gate to the “ cleansing of the outside of the cup 
and platter,” and are not a vital part of His 
intention — for He has nothing but condemna- 
tion for “ forms ” and “ ceremonies.” And, on 
this very point, I venture to say that if the 
rumour be correct that incense is to be used at 
the Coronation of our King and Queen, it will 
be a most unwise and unpopular procedure 
on the part of any bishop or archbishop who 
sanctions it. Incense in itself is harmless 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


enough, though it has a somewhat sickening 
odour, — it has been burnt and swung in cen- 
sers from time immemorial at all the pagan altars 
of the world, — in Babylon and Nineveh, in 
Tyre and Sidon, in Pompeii and Herculaneum, 
— it has smoked itself up to the gods Bel and 
Osiris, it has been used at the “ services of 
Venus” and the shrines of Apollo and Jupiter, 
Buddha, Siva, and countless deities, as well as 
on the sacrificial stones consecrated to the wor- 
ship of the Israelitish Jehovah, — but it is not 
a part of Christian worship. And when it is 
taken into due consideration that the use of it at 
the Coronation will indubitably offend and irritate 
thousands of the King’s most loyal subjects, it 
should most assuredly be entirely avoided. There 
is something very strange and unnatural in the 
provocative spirit which is at present being exer- 
cised by professing rulers of the Church of Eng- 
land against one another ; and there is matter too 
for regret in the attitude of favour maintained 
by Lord Salisbury towards the practices of an 
almost theatrical Ritualism in the form of Eng- 
lish Christian services. Can it be possible that 
the Premier meditates “ going over ” to Rome ? 
His appointments of High Churchmen to im- 


GOO0G0GXD0G)00©OO0G©OG)OO0©0 O©©GO00000G>OGO0©OGi0O000GO 

A QUESTION OF FAITH 


portant bishoprics would seem to imply that his 
mind is trending that way ; certainly the simple 
and unaffected man of pure taste and dignity in 
Church ritual does not appeal to him, and that 
he is preparing the way for a second Cromwell 
is only too evident. It is lamentable indeed 
that any discussions should arise between the 
different sects as to “ forms and ceremonies,” 
and those men who excite fanatical hatreds by 
their petty quarrels over unimportant cc shows” 
and observances are criminally to blame for any 
evils that are likely to ensue. What Christ 
commands is cc Love one another — what He 
desires is that all mankind should be friends 
and brothers in His Name. And it is from 
this point of view that I again ask the question 
of those who may have glanced through this 
paper — Do you believe, or do you not be- 
lieve? Are you a Christian? Or a Secta- 
rian ? The one is not the other. 

For my own part I would desire to see all 
the Sects cease their long quarrel, — all “ dog- 
mas ” dropped — and all creeds amalgamated 
into one great loving family under the name of 
Christ. I should like to see an end to all big- 
otry, whether of Protestantism against Roman- 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


ism, or Romanism against Protestantism, — a 
conclusion to all differences — and a Universal 
Church of simple Love and Thanksgiving, and 
obedience to Christ’s own commands. “Tem- 
poral power ” should be held as the poor thing 
which it is, compared to Spiritual power, — for 
Spiritual power, according to the Founder of 
the Christian Faith, is the transcendent force 
of Love — love to God and love to man, — 
that “ perfect love which casteth out fear,” and 
which, being “ born of God, cannot rest but in 
God above all created things.” 

Thus it follows — That' if we hate or envy or 
slander any person, we are not Christians. 

If we prefer outward forms of religious cere- 
monial to the every-day practice of a life lived 
as closely as possible in accordance with the 
commands laid down for us in the Gospel, we 
are not Christians. 

If we love ourselves more than our neighbours, 

WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS. 

If we care for money, position, and the osten- 
tation attending these things, more than truth, 
simplicity, and plain dealing, we are not 
Christians. 

These ordinary tests of our daily conduct are 
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A QUESTION OF FAITH 


quite enough to enable us to decide whether we 
are or are not of the faith. If we are not , we 
should cease to “ sham ” that we are. It will be 
far better for all those with whom we are brought 
in contact. For, thank God, there exist 
thousands of very real “ Christians’' — (“ by their 
fruits ye shall know them ” ) — doing unostenta- 
tious good everywhere, rescuing the lost, aiding 
the poor, comforting the sick, and helping the 
world to grow happier and better. They may be 
called Jews or Baptists, Papists or Buddhists, — 
but I hold them all as “ Christians” if they per- 
from those good deeds and live those good lives 
which are acceptable to Christ; while many 
church-going hypocrites called “ Christians,” 
whose social existence is a scandal, whose dissipa- 
tions, gross immoralities and pernicious example 
of living are open dangers to the whole com- 
munity, do not deserve even such a complimen- 
tary term as “ pagan ” applied to them. For the 
pagans — aye, the earliest savages — believed in 
Something higher than themselves; but these sort 
of people believe in nothing but the necessity of 
getting what they want at all costs, and are mere 
human warts of evil, breeding infection and pesti- 
lence. And it is particularly incumbent on the 
95 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


clergy of all denominations at the present junc- 
ture to sift Themselves as to their calling and elec- 
tion while sifting others, — to ask themselves 
whether they may not be in a great measure to 
blame for much of the infamy which reeks from 
our great cities, — for much of the apathy and 
indifference to that bitter poverty, that neglected 
suffering which often gives birth to Anarchy, — 
for much of the open atheism which shames the 
upper classes of society. Let them live such 
lives as may liberate them from all fear or hesita- 
tion in speaking out boldly to the souls they have 
in charge — let them “ preach the Gospel ” as they 
were commanded, rather than expound human 
dogmas. Sympathy, tenderness, patience, love 
for all living creatures, rejection of everything 
that is mean and cruel, false and cowardly, —a 
broad mind open to all the beautiful and gracious 
influences of Nature — a spirit uplifted in thanks- 
giving to the loving God of all worlds who is 
brought close to us and made the friend of man 
in the Divine Personality of Christ — this surely 
is Christianity — a Faith which leaves no corner 
anywhere for the admission of hate, dissension or 
despair. Such is the Faith the Master taught, 
saying : — 


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A QUESTION OF FAITH 


1 “ I have not spoken of myself, but of the 
Father which sent me ; He gave me a command- 
ment what I should say, and what I should 
speak. 

“ And I know that His commandment is 
life everlasting — whatsoever I speak, therefore, 
even as the Father taught me, so I speak.” 

So He speaks — but do we listen ? And if we 
listen, — and believe, — why do we not obey ? 

1 John xii. 49. 


7 


97 




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THE VOICE IN THE CATHEDRAL 


99 



©0003G0O0G0GOO0O0GO0OG0O0 >J< ©0OO0GGGOOGG000GOOG00G©©© 

THE VOICE IN THE 
CATHEDRAL 





j]3€l|i3,$ tlje olb catfjebral, 

3lt tfjc fjour of evening 
praper, 

t©fjt«t tlje golben tubes of tfjc 
organ 

Idoureb music on tlje air, 

3 ftnelt alone in tlje Sljaboto 
<©f tlje ttoiligfjt grep anb bim, 

2Dreamilp, brotosilp Rearing 
€{je souttb of tlje choristers’ fjjjmn — 

3 fjearb it, But Scarcelp listencb, 
for 3 toas in miserp, 
l^ot eben tlje glorious music 
l^ab potocr to comfort me. 


€{je migfjtp tljorus beepeneb 
5Citb rolleb tfjrougfj t(je arcfjeS toibe, 
®ill Softer, Softer groining, 
t©itfj one faint cfjorb it bieb ; 

Cfjcn, solemnlp anb granblp. 

Clear on tlje Subben calm, 

Came floating a Boicc — one onlp, 

3Lifte an 5Cngel’S Singing a psalm — 


IOI 




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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Tone so pure anb tenber, 

=f>o riclj anb lobmg anb loin, 

€()at it toucljeb mp (jeart liltc an ccljo 
from tf)c lanb of long ago. 

Sl?p plumb ’ring poul toap bjafteneb 
Slip that tooite fell on mp carp ; 

2$p ptubborn pribc toap tonquercb 
3Cnb quencljeb in grateful tearp ; 
sa^p porrotop ftcb ap 31E>inter 
f liep from tfjc pmile of flt^ap, 

2Cnb mp feeble Ijcart inap Ptrcngtljcncb 
for tbc bangerp of mp luap. 

<£> Boicc bibine, tfjouglj buman ! 

<© mateljlcpp potoct of £ong ! 

31 Pball bear pou in mp ppirit 
Stub lobe pou mp toljole life long ! 


102 


©GO©©0©©0OOOOOGGOG0O©OO0O ^ ©©0OGOOGO00OOOGG0OO00G00O 

THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR 


103 









































©GGG00OGOQOGOGOOOOGOGGOO© >J< ©©©©OOGGGGGOGOGGOOGGGGOGX3 

THE GHOST IN THE 
SEDAN-CHAIR 


T is a very old Sedan-Chair, 
— “ genuine old ” — not the 
manufactured antiquity of the 
second-hand dealer. I bought 
it for very little money at a 
sale of the furniture and effects 
of an historical manor-house, and though much 
was told me about the manor-house itself, 
nobody could tell me anything about the 
chair. It might have always belonged to the 
manor, — and again it might not. It was cum- 
brous, and in these days, said the brisk auc- 
tioneer who was entrusted with the sale, quite 
useless. True. Yet somehow I took a singular 
fancy to it. I did not actually want it, — and 
yet I felt I must have it. My wish was very 
easily gratified, for no one competed in the bidding 
for such an out-of-date piece of property. It 
was knocked down to me at a small figure, and 
in the course of a few days took up a corner in 
my drawing-room, where, owing to the sixteenth- 
century style of that apartment, it looked, and 
io 5 



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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


still looks, quite at home. It has taken kindly 
to its surroundings, and in Spring-time, when 
we set the first blossoms of the almond-tree in a 
tall vase within it, so that the sprays push out 
their pink flowers through the window-holes, it 
presents an almost smiling appearance. It is 
made of polished wood and leather, and has at 
one time been somewhat ornately gilded, but the 
gold is all tarnished save in one or two small 
corners at the carved summit of the door, and 
the leather is badly rubbed and worn. Inside it 
is in somewhat better condition. It is lined with 
crimson silk stuff, patterned with gold fleur-de- 
lys ; and the padded cushions are still comfort- 
able. The door has a wonderfully contrived 
brass catch and handle, really worth the attention 
of a connoisseur in such things, and when it is ' 
shut some skill is required to open it again. In 
fact you must “ know the trick of it ” as they say. 
There were great ructions one afternoon when a 
“ smart ” man, down for the day from London, 
entered the chair, sat down, and banged that 
door to on himself. He smiled happily for a 
few minutes, and waved his hand condescendingly 
through the window-holes to a group of admiring 
friends, — but when he tried to get out and could 
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THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR 


not, his smile promptly vanished. His friends 
laughed, — and that irritated him ; he was being 
made ridiculous, and no man can endure a joke 
which affects his amour-propre. I was hastily 
called for to set him at liberty, and as I did the 
old chair creaked, as much as to say “ I told you 
so! Can’t abide your modern young man !” 

I was thinking of this incident the other 
evening, when sitting by a sparkling fire of pine 
logs, and watching the fiames reflected in the 
shining copper projections of the open Tudor 
grate ; I presently raised my eyes and looked 
towards the chair. 

“ We must fill it with bright holly for Christ- 
mas,” I said to myself half aloud ; “ and hang 
just one little bunch of mistletoe tied with white 
ribbon over the door, for the sake of all the 
pretty women who may have been carried in it 
long ago ! ” 

The pine logs spluttered and crackled, — one 
fell apart and leaped into a flame, and the gleam 
and flicker of it caught at the remaining bits of 
gold on the carving of the Chair, and lit up its 
faded crimson lining, and as I sat quietly look- 
ing at it in a sort of idle abstraction and reverie, 
it seemed to me as though the sparkling reflec- 


G00OOOOOOO0O0OOOOOOOOOOOO >J< ©00000000O000O000000000O0 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


tion of the fire on its cushions looked like the 
bright waves of a woman’s hair. All at once I 
jumped up quite startled — some one laughed ! 

— yes, laughed, — quite close to me, — and a 
very pretty rippling laugh it was. My heart 
beat quickly, — yet scarcely with alarm so much 
as surprise. I listened attentively — and again 
the sweet laughter echoed on the silence. Surely 

— surely it came from — yes! — from the Sedan- 
Chair ! I looked — and rubbed my eyes vio- 
lently to make sure I was not dreaming — 
looked again, and there — there, as distinctly as 
the Chair itself, I saw Some-One sitting inside 

— a very fascinating Some-One with a fair face, 
a bewildering tangle of golden curls, blue eyes, 
rosy cheeks and dancing dimples, dressed in the 
most becoming little low-necked muslin frock 
imaginable ! 

“ Why ! ” I stammered. “ Who — what — 
how did you get in there ? ” 

The Some-One smiled, and looked more 
bewitching than ever. 

“ I am very often in here,” replied a soft 
voice, “ only I am not always in the humour to 
make myself visible. I am the Ghost of an 
Old-Fashioned Girl ! ” 

108 


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THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR 


I stared at the lovely spectre, stricken dumb, 
not by fear, but by admiration. “ If all ghosts 
are like this one,” I thought, “ we really cannot 
have too many of them about, especially at 
Christmas-time!” It was such a charming 
ghost ! so unlike the usual sort of creeping- 
shivery thing which is supposed to haunt old 
houses and frighten harmless children ! It had 
such beautiful clear eyes, — such a radiant smile! 
— and such a pretty pout came on the rosy lips 
when, receiving no answer, it suddenly said with 
an air of graceful petulance, — 

“ Dear me ! Now I have told you who I am, 
you don’t seem a bit glad to see me? You 
ought to be, you know ! — for I am quite a 
harmless Ghost — really I am ! I wouldn’t 
frighten you for the world ! But you would buy 
my Chair ! — and of course I like to come and sit 
in it nowand then, and think about old times!” 

I began to recover myself from the shock of 
surprise the fascinating appearance had given 
me, and I said in a faint voice, — 

u Oh, is that it ! The Sedan-Chair — ” 

“ Is mine ! ” said the Ghost of the Old- 
Fashioned Girl ; “ or rather it used to be mine 
when I lived in the world and went about in it 


©0G0O0GGGOOGOGGXDOQGX9OGGG0 ►£< G)OO©©©©©G0G)GG)G©00©©©G0G0O 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


to balls and parties, you know ! I can’t help 
having a little tenderness for it, because it is so 
very closely associated with my happy life on 
earth. Now please don’t stand looking at me 
so strangely ! Sit down, and let us have a little 
chat in the firelight, won’t you? ” 

What a sweet voice this Ghost had to be 
sure ! What a delightfully coaxing way of 
looking and speaking ! I could not resist the 
appealing, half playful glances of her eyes, so I 
obeyed her suggestion and went back to my seat 
by the fire, whereupon the Ghost of the Old- 
Fashioned Girl straightway opened the door of 
the Sedan-Chair and showed me her entire self, 
dressed apparently for a Christmas-party. Her 
white muslin frock was simply hemmed at the 
bottom, and had three little tucks in it — she 
wore small low shoes with elastic crossed over 
fine openwork white stockings — her pretty 
rounded arms were veiled, but not disguised, 
by black lace mittens, and her waist was quite 
carelessly tied in with a narrow strip of blue 
ribbon. But all this extreme simplicity only 
served to show the exquisite beauty of her 
lovely neck and shoulders, which rose out of 
the little muslin bodice like sculptured snow, 
no 


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THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR 


and one little wicked knot of violets fastened 
with a quaint pearl brooch against the beautiful 
bosom, was enough to make the coldest anchor- 
ite forget his prayers and compose a love-sonnet 
immediately. 

“ Well ! ” said the Ghost after a pause, “ how 
do you like me ? ” 

“Very much ! ” I answered promptly; “I 
have never seen anyone so pretty as you are in 
my life ! ” 

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl smiled, 
and drawing out a small fan with delicate mother- 
of-pearl sticks, unfurled it and put it coquettishly 
before her face. 

“ That is what all the gentlemen used to say 
to me when I went about in this Chair,” she 
observed, “and then they would put their 
declarations in the lining.” 

“ In the lining ?” I echoed. “You mean — ” 

“ The lining of the Chair,” she explained. 
“There are some little secret pockets in it — 
haven’t you found them yet? Oh, you must 
look for them when I am gone — there is one 
very deep pocket just behind my head under a 
big golden fleur-de-lys. My first real proposal 
was put in that ! ” 


hi 


©0OGOO0GQGO00OO0OOOOOG0OO ©©©000OO0QQGGOO0OGOOGOOOO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


“ And did you accept it ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned 
Girl, smiling, “ and he and I were married, and 
lived sixty years together ! ” 

“ Dear me ! ” I ejaculated. “ And he — ” 

“ He is very well, thank you ! ” said the 
Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl. “ Quite as 
young as when I first met him, — and so 
am I ! ” 

I had no words ready with which to reply to 
this astonishing statement. The Ghost of the 
Old-Fashioned Girl folded up her little fan and 
pressed its tip meditatively against her lips. 

“You see we really loved each other,” she 
said with emphasis, “ and so of course we have 
always loved each other! And as a natural 
result we shall always love each other ! ” 

“ Yes, — I understand — ” I murmured 
vaguely. 

“No, you don’t!” said the Ghost of the 
Old-Fashioned Girl quickly ; “ though perhaps 
I should n’t say that, because it sounds rude, — 
but I am afraid, you know, that you don't quite 
see the point! The world has lost a number 
of good things since I was a girl in it, — and 
one of these good things is real, true love ! ” 


O00GG0G0G00GGGGGGGXDOOGXD00 ^ ©00GGGGG0GOG0GGXDOG0GOOGOO 

THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR 


“ I don’t think you should say that ! ” I 
replied warmly ; “ I am sure people love each 
other quite as much as they ever did.” 

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl shook 
her fan at me. 

“Not a bit of it!” she declared. “You 
know they don’t, — so don’t pretend they do ! ” 

I was silent. I felt that it was perhaps not 
advisable to enter into argument with a visitor 
who knew the secrets of the next world. 

“ They can t love each other as they used to,” 
went on the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl ; 
“ the modern ways of the world won’t give them 
either the time or the opportunity. It is all 
rush, rush, hurry, and scramble; — and I’m 
sorry to see that the men love themselves better 
than their sweethearts. In my day it was quite 
different; men loved their sweethearts better 
than themselves ! ” 

“ But you had not much liberty in your day, 
had you ? ” I asked timidly. 

“ Quite as much as was good for me, or for 
any of us,” replied the Ghost of the Old-Fash- 
ioned Girl. “We stayed in the dear old homes 
of our childhood content to make them happy 
by our presence, — till our destined lovers came 
8 113 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


and found us and took us away to other homes, 
which they had worked for, and which we tried 
to make as pleasant and sweet as those we had 
left. Home was always our happiest and dear- 
est place. But the girls of to-day don’t care for 
simple home lives. What do they know about 
making the best jams in the country, the finest 
elder wine or cider P What do they know about 
the value of lavendered linen ? What do they 
care about tidiness, economy, or cleanliness P 
Pooh ! They want change and excitement all the 
time ! ” 

“ That’s true!” I said. “ But then, you 
see, woman’s education is much enlarged and 
improved — ” 

“ Education that makes a woman prefer 
hotels and restaurants to her own home is not 
education at all,” said the Ghost of the Old- 
Fashioned Girl, with a decided nod of her pretty 
head. “ Oh dear! What a pity it is ! — what 
a pity! It makes me quite sad to think of all 
the happiness women are losing ! ” 

She gave her little muslin skirts a soft shake, and 
settled herself more cosily in the Sedan-Chair. 

“ I remember,” she said, and her voice was 

as sweet as that of a bird in Spring-time “ I 

114 


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THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR 


remember going in this very Chair to a grand 
Court ball in London. I danced with the 
Royal party in c Sir Roger/ and I was one of 
the belles of the evening. I was dressed very 
much as I am now, and none of the girls there 
had anything better or more showy, — but their 
admirers were legion, and any of them could 
have married well the very next day, not because 
they were rich, for many of them were poor, 
but just because they were sweet, and innocent, 
and good. None of them would have thought 
of spoiling their fresh faces with paint and 
powder — that was left to what were called 
‘ women of the town!’ None of them ever 
thought of drinking wines or spirits. None 
of them ever spoke or laughed loudly, but 
comported themselves with gentleness, unselfish 
kindness, and grace of manner. And will you 
tell me that things are just the same now ? ” 

Her eyes met mine with a penetrating flash. 

“ No, they are not the same/’ I said ; “ you 
would not wish the world to stand still, would 
you ? Girls have progressed since your day ! ” 
She nodded gravely. 

“Yes? Tell me how !” 

“Well, for instance — ” and I sought about 
”5 


©©©G000OO0QOG0O0G00OO0OO© >J< ©©OO0G0GOQG0GOOGGOGGGGGGO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


desperately in my mind for examples of woman's 
progress — “ for instance, they enjoy greater 
freedom. They get more open-air exercise. 
They play tennis and golf and hockey with 
the men — ” 

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl gave a 
slight, a very slight and not unmusical giggle. 

“ Yes ! I have seen them at it, and very 
ugly they look. But their sports do develop 
muscle — very unbecomingly in the neck ! — 
and they do induce the growth — of horribly 
large hands and feet ! Oh yes ! Let ’s have 
some more Progress ! ” 

A trifle disconcerted, I went on. 

“ Then they cycle — ” 

Here the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl 
put up her fan again. 

“ Pray ! — pray ! ” she remonstrated — “I 
really must ask you to consider me a little, 
and avoid any conversation that borders on 
impropriety ! ” 

“ Impropriety !” I echoed aghast. “ But all 
the girls cycle — ” 

“ That is to say," said the Ghost with asperity, 
“ that all the girls have become shameless 
enough to sit astride on a couple of wheels and 


0G0O00QOG0GGGGOGOOGOG0GG© ©©©©©©GGX3GGGGOGOOO0000OO© 

THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR 


thus expose themselves to the gaze of the public. 
A hopeful state of things, truly ! Well ! Give 
me some more Progress ! ” 

“ Then,” I said, “ there are plenty of girls 
who smoke and drive motor-cars, and bet on 
horse-races and gamble at ‘ Bridge/ Tou may 
object to this sort of thing, being so much 
behind the age, — but after all you must own 
that it brings them into free and constant com- 
panionship with the other sex.” 

“ It does ! ” said the Ghost of the Old- 
Fashioned Girl decidedly ; “ and such free and 
constant companionship breeds contempt on 
both sides! Now let me tell you something! 
Do you know what all the best men like most ? ” 
I laughed and shook my head in the negative. 
“ They like what they cannot get ! ” said the 
Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl emphatically. 
“ They like what is as unlike themselves as 
possible, and what will never be like themselves ! 
The woman who is half a man will never be 
truly loved by a whole man — remember that ! ” 
Again she settled her pretty muslin skirts, 
and nodded her fair head, “ sunning over with 
curls,” well out of the interior of the Sedan- 
Chair. 

117 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


“ In the old unprogressive days,” she said, “ we 
certainly did not have much liberty. We were 
held as too precious and too dear to be allowed 
to straggle about by ourselves like unvalued 
tramps in the highways and byways. We stayed 
very much in our own homes, and were proud 
and pleased to be there. We helped to make 
them beautiful. We loved our old-fashioned 
gardens. We played ‘battledore and shuttle- 
cock,’ which is exactly the same as your ‘ Ping- 
Pong ’ — save that you have a net in the middle 
of the table and play with balls — and we tossed 
our shuttlecocks up to the blue sky. We 
walked and rode* and found in these two exercises 
quite sufficient relaxation as well as development 
for our bodies, which, if you will please to 
remember, are not intended to be in the least 
like the bodies of men, and are by no means 
fitted for masculine gymnastics. We had neither 
cycles nor motors, we did not smoke, drink, bet, 
or gamble, — but — we were the models of 
womanliness, goodness, and purity for all the 
world! — and — we were loved!” 

“ And love was quite sufficient for you ? ” I 
asked hesitatingly. 

“ Of course ! Love was sufficient, and is 
1 18 


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THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR 


sufficient always for every woman when it is 
love ; — but you have to be quite sure about 
it ! ” 

“ Ah, yes ! ” I said, “ very sure ! ” 

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl peered 
at me with a saucy air. 

“Do you know how to make sure ? ” she asked. 

“ No ! ” 

Her lips parted in a gay little chuckle of 
laughter. 

“ Then you must find out ! ” 

Provoking Old-Fashioned Girl ! I sprang 
up and made a step towards her, but her fair 
face seemed to be growing indistinct, as if about 
to disappear. 

“ Oh, don’t go ! ” I cried, “ don’t go away, 
dear Old-Fashioned Girl ! Do stay a little ! ” 

The pretty eyes sparkled out again, and the 
winsome features shone forth once more from 
the interior of the Sedan-Chair. 

“ What is the use of my staying ? ” she de- 
manded. “You live in the age of progress. 
I ’m not wanted ! ” 

“ But you are wanted ! ” I declared. “ The 
world wants you ! Anyhow, / want you. Come 
and spend Christmas with me ! ” 


©©©0GOGOGGG0OO3OG00OG0GGG ©©0GO0O0OOOO0OGOGOGO0OG00 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Did ever any Ghost in any legend wear such 
an enchanting smile as lighted up the dream- 
face of the Old-Fashioned Girl as she heard this 
impulsive invitation ? Stretching out a little 
hand as white as milk — and I noticed there 
was a tiny blue forget-me-not ring on it — she 
said, — 

“ Yes, I will spend Christmas with you ! If 
you will fasten a bunch of mistletoe on the door 
of my dear old Sedan-Chair on Christmas Eve, 
I will come and bring you a bundle of pleasant 
thoughts and merry fancies in exchange ! And 
the best advice I can give you is to be c Old- 
Fashioned’ — that is, to love home more than 
‘gadding,’ — peace more than strife, — friend- 
ship more than ‘ society,’ — simplicity more than 
show, — cheerfulness more than pride, — truth 
more than distinction, — and God more than all ! 
Good-night, my dear ! Good-bye ! ” 

cc Wait, wait ! ” I exclaimed, loth to lose sight 
of the pretty face, the sweet eyes, the happy 
smile — “Just one thing I want to ask you — 
only one thing ! ” 

The Ghost paused, and turned its fair head 
round in a glamour of soft radiance like melted 
moonbeams. 


120 


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THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR 


“Well, what is it ? ” 

“ Just one thing I want, only one thing! — 
Oh, dear Old-Fashioned Girl, tell me ! — when 
you lived in this world, so changed and so much 
sadder and colder since your time — who were 
you ? ” 

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl laughed 
musically. 

“ Why a simple nobody, my dear ! Only 
your great-great-grandmamma ! ” 

The door of the Sedan-Chair shut with a 
slight bang, — and almost I expected to see a 
couple of spectral “ bearers” take it up with its 
lovely ghostly occupant, and carry it away alto- 
gether out of my drawing-room to some un- 
known region of faery. But no ! The fire 
burned up bright and clear, and the flames of 
the pine-logs danced merrily on the Chair as be- 
fore, catching at the tarnished gold and gleaming 
on the faded crimson lining, but the Old-Fash- 
ioned Girl had gone, as completely as she has 
vanished from the social world of to-day. Re- 
membering what she had said about the myste- 
rious secret pocket behind one of the patterned 
fleur-de-lys, I advanced cautiously, put my hand 
through one of the window-holes, and felt about 


©0©0©GO0GG0O©©O00GG©GO©0© ►£< O0G00G0O00GGOOGG0GO0O0O0G 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


to see if I could find it. Yes ! — there it was ! — 
and while groping doubtfully in it, my fingers 
came in contact with a bit of crumpled paper. 
Tremblingly I drew it out, — it brought with it 
a scent of old rose-leaves and lavender, — and 
hurrying back to the hearth I knelt down and 
examined it by the glow of the fire. Something 
was written on it in faded ink, and after poring 
over it for a minute or two, I was able to make 
out the words : 

“ My own little Sweetheart, I love you for 
yourself alone, believe me, and I will always 
love you till — ” 

I looked up. I thought I heard the old 
chair creak ! Had my great-great-grandmamma 
come back to catch me reading what was per- 
haps one of her love-letters? No — she was 
not there. But I fancy I know now why she 
haunts the Sedan-Chair, and as she is a relative 
of mine, I shall certainly expect her to stay with 
me at Christmas and help me to begin the New 
Year in a real “ Old-Fashioned ” way, — with 
home-contentment, love, and peace ! 


122 


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KING HENRY’S LOVE-SONG 


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KING HENRY’S LOVE-SONG 1 

(“AH, MY SWEET SWEETING.”) 

Words by King Henry VIII. Music by Marie Corelli. 



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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 



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KING HENRY’S LOVE-SONG 





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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 



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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


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THE FIRE OF LIFE 


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©0GO0QOGOGOG0O0000O0OGGGO ^ ©OGGGG)OG)00G)©GG0O©O©0G©OG0 

THE FIRE OF LIFE 


“ Clearest evidence shows how our Earth was once a 
fluid haze of light, and how for countless aeons after- 
wards her globe was instinct with fiery heat/’ 

Richard Proctor. 

tf)c brooding breast of tfjc 
cmjitp Darlt, ere eber tljc 
inorld tuns ninbe, 

J©Ijcn tlje aBodS tuere asleep in 
a realm of rest, hal^buricd 
’ttuirt Jligfjt anb Jdiadc ; 

5t spirit arose on tljc bastp air. — a glorious* 
spirit of fire, — 

511 bunged barbel, luboSc cpeS lucre bright 
tuitlj tl)c flame of a netu desire ; 

Croton'd tuitfl a thousand stars* be Stood in a 
flalo of burning beams, 

5tnd lifting bib passionate boite be rouScd 
tbc <!3ods from tbeir idle dreams. 

Up tbcp Started, those massibe Shapes, and 
tuitb Stoift ereatibe bands, 

Cbep parted tbc darbneSS, let loose tljc light, 
and fashioned the Stab and lands ; 

’35 



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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


45reat Sprang from t(jc teeming soil, 

luitlj grasses anb glorpAlolucrS, 

3lnb minutes lucre mabc of jrtueEpointS tfjat 
glittcrcb into Hours ; 

(©uGtuljirlcb tlje planets like silbcc SljipS in 
tlje Sappljire bcptljs of l^catocn 
2Enb tljc cf'un anb 2C?oon lucre born lilte babes 
from tlje marriage of SQorti anb €ben. 

Dotun through ttje slues flcb tlje Spirit of 
flame, attb piercing the nclu eartljAlobS, 
Dretu Uapours thence luljitl) Slolulp up^grelu 
into forms that tuere lilte tlje <£3obS ; 

Vacant anb emptp of Soul anb sense, im? 

potent creatures lucre tljcp, 

©ill tljjrillcb bp tlje burning touch of Ilobe, 
tljcp libcb in tlje ligfjt of Dap — 
llibcb, each one, for tlje breathing spate of 
threescore pears anb ten, 

5Cnb Sluore tljcp lucre more than tlje <£3obS 
tljcmSclUeS, — these <t>baboluS tallcb luomcit 
anb men ! 

€ljcn lucarp grelu tlje Spirit of fire, anb 
rising on rabiant tuings, 

1$t fleb aluap from tlje tuljirling bantc of hiS 
brief crcatcb things — 

136 


©©G0OO0GO0O0O0O0OGOGGG0GO ^ OOOGO0OGO0GGXDQOO0OOQG0QOO 

THE FIRE OF LIFE 


ISartlj’O blacft and Otcrilc globe ptoung rounb 
on an ebgc of circling colb, 

2Cnb tl)c J'un tons brobmeb in a ppljcrical oca 
of mobelepp fro?cn golb — 

Clje £3obs beparteb anb brotnpcb again bp 
Hifc’p fulLflobjing riber, 

25ut tljc bjotlb tljep Ijab mabc hiitf) a 23rcatf) 
of flame Ijab pappeb from tfjcir tljougljto 
for eber! 


137 






©GOGGOG0OO0OO0OGGGO0GOOG0 >J< ©0©0©000©0000©©0©0©0©0©©0 

THE DEVIL’S MOTOR 


13 9 




©GOOOGOGO00GOGGOGGG0OGGG0 ©GGOGXDGGGGOOGCDGGOOOOOQOGO 

THE DEVIL’S MOTOR 

A FANTASY 


N the dead midnight, at that 
supreme moment when the 
Hours that are past slip away 
from the grasp of the Hours 
yet to be, there came rushing 
between Earth and Heaven the 
sound of giant wheels, — the glare of great lights, 
— the stench and the muffled roar of a huge 
Car, tearing at full speed along the pale line 
dividing the Darkness from the Dawn. And he 
who stood within the Car, steering it straight 
onward, was clothed in black and crowned with 
fire ; large bat-like wings flared out on either side 
of him in woven webs of smoke and flame, and 
his face was white as bleached bone. Like glow- 
ing embers his eyes burned in their cavernous 
sockets, shedding terrific glances through the 
star-strewn space, — and on his thin lips there 
was a frozen shadow of a smile more cruel than 
hate, — more deadly than despair. 

“On!” he cried — “Still on! On with an 
endless rush and roar ! Over the plains of the 




©©©O0©©G©0OG00OO0GOOOG©OG ©0OOG00G0OO0000GO00000GO0 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


world that is gone, — over the heights of the 
world to come — on, still on ! Without pause, 
without pity, without love, without regret ! 
Follow me, all ye Forces which are destined to 
work the ruin of Mankind, — follow ! On, on, 
over all beauty, all tenderness, all truth I ride, 
— I, the Avenger, the Destroyer, the Torturer 
of Souls, the Arch-Enemy of God ! The King- 
dom of Hell grows wide and deep, — praise be 
to the Man who makes it ! I count up my 
growing possessions in the ever-breeding spawn 
of human lust and avarice, — I breathe and live 
and rejoice in the fat poison- vapours of human 
Selfishness ! The men of these latter days are my 
food and sustenance, — the women my choice mor- 
sels, my dainty delicates ! Brute beasts and blind, 
they snatch at every lie I offer them ; — rejecting 
Eternal Life, they choose Eternal Death, — verily 
they shall have their reward! Like a blight my 
Spirit shall encompass them, — and whosoever 
would scour the air and scorch the earth must 
run on the straight road of his desire with Me!” 

The great Car flashed along with grinding, 
thunderous wheels, and as it flew, vast Phantom- 
forms followed it, like rolling clouds jagged with 
the lightning, — the fairness of the world grew 

142 


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THE DEVIL’S MOTOR 


black; and sulphureous fumes quenched all sweet- 
ness from the air. The forests dropped like 
broken reeds, — the mountains crumbled into 
pits and quarries, the seas and rivers, the lakes 
and waterfalls dried up into black and muddy 
waters ; and all the land was bereft of beauty. 
In the place of wholesome green fields and 
leafy woods, there rose up gigantic cities, built 
in on every side, and bristling with thousands 
upon thousands of chimneys belching forth 
sickening smoke into the overhanging gloom 
which hid the skies, and the cities were full of a 
deafening noise and crashing confusion as of ten 
million million hammers beating incessantly — 
beating away all peace, all solitude, all health, all 
rest. On, — on, and into these countless prisons 
of stone and mortar the Demon of the Car swept 
vast and ever-hurrying crowds of human beings, 
with the furious force of a mighty whirlwind 
sweeping dead leaves into the sea. 

“No room to breathe — no time to think — 
no good to serve!” he cried — “Now shall 
you forget that God exists ! Now shall you 
all have your own wild way, for Your way is 
My way ! Now shall you resolve yourselves 
back to an embryo of worms and apes, and none 
M3 


039930033330330300330003© ►£< ©00G000O000OOO00OOOOOOOOO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


shall rescue you, no, not one ! For the Seven 
Angels of the Judgment Day are sounding their 
trumpets of terror, and who shall silence the 
voices, or stay the thunderings and lightnings, 
or the great earthquake ? Hail and fire ! — and 
the trees, and the green grass burnt up and 
destroyed, — the sun and the moon, the day 
and the night smitten into one blackness ! We 
will have no more virtues ! — no more hopes of 
Heaven ! Honour shall be as a rag on a fool's 
back, and Gold shall be the pulse of Life ! 
Gold, gold, gold ! Fight for it, steal it, pile it 
up, hoard it, count it, hug it, eat it, sleep with 
it, die with it ! Lo, I give it to you in millions, 
packed down and pressed together in full and 
overflowing measure — I scatter it on you even 
as a destroying rain ! — build with it, buy with 
it, gamble with it, sell your souls and bodies for 
it, — there are devils enough in hell to drive all 
your bargains ! Sneer at truth, defeat justice, 
snatch virtue’s mask to cover vice, drug con- 
science, feed and fatten yourselves with the lusts 
of animalism till the cancer of sin makes of you 
a putrefaction and an open sore in the sight of 
the sun ! Come, learn from me such wisdom 
as shall compass your own destruction ! Unto 
144 


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THE DEVIL’S MOTOR 


you shall be unlocked the under-mysteries of 
Nature, and the secrets of the upper air, — you 
shall bend the lightning to your service, and 
the lightning shall slay ! — you shall hollow out 
the ground, and delve a swift road through it 
for yourselves in fancied proud security and the 
earth shall crumble in upon you as a grave, and 
the cities you have built shall crush you in their 
falling, — you shall seek to bind the winds and 
sail the skies, and Death shall wait for you in 
the clouds, and exult in your downfall. Come, 
tie your pigmy chariots to the sun, and so be 
drawn into its flaming vortex of perdition ! All 
Creation shall rejoice to be cleansed from the 
pollution of your presence, for God hath sworn 
to give unto Me all who reject Him, and the 
Hour of the Gift has come ! ” 

Still faster and more furiously flew the Car, 
— red meteors flashed in its course — and 
the Phantom shapes which followed its flight 
crowded together in an ever-thickening, ever, 
darkening multitude, while bright stars were 
shaken down from heaven like snowflakes whirl- 
ing in a winter blast. And mingling with the 
grinding roar of its wheels came other sounds, — 
sounds of fierce laughter and loud cursing, — 
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yells and shrieks and groans of torture, — the 
screams of the suffering, the sobs of the dying, 
— and as the Fiend drove on with swiftly 
quickening speed, men and women and little 
children were trampled down one upon another 
and killed in their thousands, and the Car was 
splashed thick with human blood. And He 
who was clothed in black and crowned with 
fire, shouted exultingly as He dashed along 
over massacred heaps of dead rations and the 
broken remnants of thrones. 

“ Progress and Speed ! ” he yelled — “ Rush 
on, world, with me ! — rush on ! There is but 
one end — hasten we to reach it! No halt by 
the way to gather the flowers of thought, — the 
fruits of feeling ; — no pause for a lifting of the 
eyes to the wide firmament, where millions of 
spheres, more beautiful than this which men 
make wretched, sail on their courses like fair 
ships bound for God’s golden harbours ! No 
time to listen to the singing of the birds of 
hope, the ripple of the sweet waters of refresh- 
ment, the murmur of cool grasses waving in the 
fields of peace; — no time, no stop, — no lull 
for quiet breathing, — on ! — forever on ! Up 
and ride with me all ye who would reach the 
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THE DEVIL’S MOTOR 


goal ! Come, ye fools of avarice ! Come, ye 
blown and bursting windbags of world’s conceit 
and vain pretension! Come, ye greedy maws 
of gluttony — ye human pottles of drink — ye 
wolves of vice! Come, ye shameless women of 
lusts and lies and vanities ! Come, false hearts 
and treacherous tongues and painted faces ! — 
come, dear demons all, and ride with me ! 
Come, ye pretenders to holiness — ye thieves 
of virtue, who give “ charity ” to the poor with 
the right hand, and cheat your neighbour with 
the left! — come, ye gamblers with a Nation’s 
honour, stake your last throw ! Come, all ye 
morphia- fed vampires and slaves to poison! — 
grasp at my wheels and cling ! On — on — over 
the fragments of mighty Empires, — over the 
hearts of kings and queens, — over the lives 
of the brave, the good, and the wise ! — let 
us trample them all down and crush them into 
dust and ashes ! What shall we do with wis- 
dom, we who have done with God ? What 
with purity ? — what with courage ? Naught 
are these but reproach and bitterness — mere 
obstacles in the broad way which leadeth to 
destruction ; — ride them down ! On — on ! to 
the destined end ! — on with rush and hurry 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


and panting eagerness to reach the only goal — 
the last of winning-posts — the close of Cer- 
tainties, — the Grave ! '' 

Like a flashing blur of fiery wheels the Car 
now spun along in the blackness of the night, 
and the drifting Phantoms round about it were 
as great grey sails swelling with the angry blast, 
and sweeping it onward through the dark. 

“ Pray no more — hope no more — love no 
more!” cried the Fiend. “ Be as the shifting 
sands, or as the trembling quicksilver — incon- 
stant, capricious — ever in motion, never at 
rest! Change — change and revolt! All ye 
who weary of old things, behold I give you 
new ! Bodies shall be pampered and souls 
killed for your pleasure — vices shall be called 
foulest £ sensations,' — each merely to be tried, 
excused, and condemned in turn, — and virtues 
shall have no more place at all in the scale of 
feeling! The music of life shall clash into wild 
discord — the love of home shall be a lost 
glory, — tenderness for the young and reverence 
for the old shall be the faded sentiments of the 
past, only fit for a mummer's jest! Change — 
Change and Sensation ! Roll out your columns 
of vaporous notoriety, ye printing-presses of the 
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world ! — spread wide the fame of the Anarchist 
and the Courtesan, — mock and revile the spirits 
of the wise and true, — noise abroad the name 
of the Murderer, and treat the Poet with 
derision — give flattery to the rich, and scorn to 
the humble, — teach nothing but the art of 
lying, — add venom to the tongue of scandal, — 
dig up the graves of the great, and kill the 
reputations of the brave and pure ! Help 
nothing on that is noble — nothing that is 
honest, — nothing that is of God, or for God, — 
print every lie, grudge every truth, and let your 
trumpet-note be that of blatant Atheism and 
Devilry to the end ! Set trade against trade, — 
community against community, — nation against 
nation — till with your windy bombast and 
senseless twaddle you fill your witches’ caul- 
dron of mischief and contention to the full ! 
Up and ride with me, ye Plotters against 
Peace! — ye whose hands are against every 
man! — there is no time to be lost — up and 
away with a rush and a roar ! — for the Great 
Star has fallen from heaven to earth, and to 
Him is given the key of the bottomless pit! 
The pit is open — the gate stands wide — up, 
and speed on with Me ! ” 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Like lightning now the great Car tore through 
space — its flaring lamps flashing, its wheels 
grinding with the sullen noise of a bursting 
volcano, — and amidst cries and shrieks in- 
describable, it leaped, as it were, from peak to 
peak of toppling clouds that towered above and 
around it like mighty mountains. And presently 
it seemed as if a thin, pale line of purple fire 
glimmered afar off, and by this light was seen a 
monstrous ridge of dense blackness jutting 
sharply over some vast incalculable depth of 
horror. On — still on — the Car rushed; and 
He of the sable robes and flaming crown urged 
apace its reckless speed with wild shouts of 
wilder laughter. 

“ All the world in such haste to die ! ” he 
cried. “ All the world gone mad with the craze 
of movement ! Up in the air, down on the 
earth — all turned to whirling, flying, tossing 
atoms of dust in a storm, and lo, the End ! Be 
patient now, for ye shall never wander again — 
be silent now, for prayer and cursing, laughter 
and tears are done — let the hoarded gold drop 
from your grasp — it can purchase nothing 
yonder! Was it worth while, think you, — 
this rush headlong, to be cast into silence ? 

* 5 ° 


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THE DEVIL’S MOTOR 


Was it worth while to leave the sunshine for 
this dark ? — beauty for this decay ? — sweet 
sounds of love and tenderness for this still glow 
of the eternal flame which is not quenched — 
this gnawing of the eternal worm whose appetite 
is never satisfied ? Lo, ye have burnt up a 
world to light Hell with its flame! — but the 
world shall blossom again like a flower springing 
from the dust, and ye whose soulless lives have 
been a curse and an outrage on its fairness, shall 
pace its pleasant paths no more ! Rejoice, O 
earth ! — rejoice, O sea ! — to be freed of the 
burden of mankind ! Rejoice, O birds, that the 
hand of the spoiler shall no longer wound or 
s l a y I — rejoice, O trees, that the axe of the 
destroyer shall no more cast ye down ! — rejoice, 
O all ye living creatures of the field and forest, 
that Treachery no longer stalks the world in 
man’s disguise ! Take back thy planet, O great 
God, cleansed of a pigmy race ! Create a new 
Humanity ! — for this is past ! ” 

On — on, — along the black ridge jutting 
darkly over silent Immensity, with a whirl of 
fire and roar of thunder the Car flew, — and 
then — as if for one brief breathing part of a 
second it paused ! Like a vast Shadow between 
* 5 * 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


earth and heaven the Demon stood — his bony 
hand on the steering-wheel — and every point 
in his flaming crown scintillating with the sparkle 
of a million stars. Round about him soared and 
stooped countless terrific Phantom-shapes — 
some like wrecked ships — some like torn flags 
of honour — some like mounted warriors — 
some like throned kings — some like fair women 
veiled in a mist of tears, — and beneath his bat- 
like pinions, outstretched to north and south ? 
there glimmered a pale crowd of white faces, 
upturned wild eyes and imploring hands — all 
crushed together in a writhing mass of agony ! 
But no sound came from those dumb mouths 
agape with terror, — all were silent as Death 
itself, and only the thunderous roar of the Car 
echoed through space, as, after that infinitely 
brief pause, it dashed furiously onward and 
down! — down, — down sheer over the edge 
of that mystic precipice into the fathomless 
abyss of the Unseen and Unknown ! 

A thousand lightnings leaped after it — a 
thousand crashing echoes vibrated through the 
Universe with its fall, — one frightful human 
cry shuddered up to Heaven — and then — 
silence ! Gradually, gently, and by faint de- 
U 2 


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THE DEVIL’S MOTOR 


grees, a purpling fire crimsoned the wavering 
rise of dawn — a cool wind parted the air into 
sweet breadths of fragrance — and in the centre 
of the awful stillness a scarlet sun rose slowly in 
a clear sky, fixing the red seal of God on the 
closed history of a World ! 


*53 































































































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GOD AND SATAN 


V. 


T 55 



















































































« 

























































OOOO0G0G0O0GOOOOOGG0OO0O0 >J< OOOG0OGGGOOGQG0GGG0QOQGGG 

GOD AND SATAN 


Staifi — “3 tuill create 
tuorlfi in ttjc air ! ” 
tan fiearfi anfi anstucrcfi — 
3 too tuill fie tfiete ! ” 

C5ofi paifi — “3 tuill mafte of a^ait 
2U creature Supreme ! ” — 

=§>atan anptucrcfi — “ 3 tuill fictftrop 
Cfip fiplcnfiiti 2Dreani ! ” 

-Gofi satfi — “3 tuill orfiain 
Cfiat Cfiou pfialt no longer fie ! ” 

*§>atan anptuerefi — “ Cfiou canst not, Itorfi, 
jfor 3 am a part of Cfiee ! ” 



>57 







































































































©©OGG00GX3GGOOGGGOGQG0GO©© ►J* ©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©© 

“IMAGINARY” LOVE 


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“IMAGINARY” LOVE 


“ My love 

Is as the very centre of the earth 
Drawing all things to it.” 

Troilus and Cressida. 

HERE is perhaps no emotion 
more elevating or more decep- 
tive than that sudden uplifting 
of the heart and yearning of the 
senses which may be called 
“imaginary” Love. It re- 
sembles the stirring of the sap in the roots of 
flowers, thrilling the very ground with hints and 
promises of spring, — it is the unspeakable out- 
coming of human emotion and sympathy too 
great to be contained within itself, — the 

tremulous desire, — half vague and wholly 
innocent, — of the human soul for its mate. 
The lower grades of passion have not as yet 
ruffled the quivering white wings of this divinely 
sweet emotion, and the being who is happy 
enough to experience it in all its intensity, is, for 
the time, the most enviable on earth. Youth or 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


maiden, whichever it be, the world is a fairyland 
for this chosen dreamer. Nothing appears base 
or mean, — God’s smile is reflected in every ray 
of sunshine, and Nature offers no prospect that 
is not pleasing. It is the season of glamour and 
grammarye, — a look over the distant hills is 
sufficient to engage the mind of the dreaming 
girl with brilliant fancies of gallant knights riding 
from far-off countries, with their lady’s colours 
pinned to their breasts “ to do or die ” for the 
sake of love and glory, — and the young boy, 
half in love with a pretty face he has seen on his 
way home from school or college, begins to think 
with all the poets, of eyes blue as skies, of loves 
and doves, and hearts and darts, in happy 
unconsciousness that his thoughts are not in the 
least original. Yet with all its ethereal beauty 
and gossamer-sense of pleasure, this “imaginary” 
love is often the most pathetic experience we 
have or ever shall have in life. It is answerable 
for numberless griefs, — for bitter disillusions, — 
occasionally, too, for broken hearts. It glitters 
before us, a brilliant chimera, during our very 
young days, — and on our entrance into society it 
vanishes, leaving us to pursue it through many 
phases of existence, and always in vain. The 
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“IMAGINARY” LOVE 

poet is perhaps the happiest of all who join in 
this persistent chase after the impossible, — for 
he frequently continues to imagine “ imaginary ” 
love with ecstasy and fervour to the very end of 
his days. Next in order comes the musician, 
who in the composition of a melancholy nocturne 
or tender ballad, or in the still greater work of a 
romantic opera, imagines “ imaginary ” love in 
strains of perfect sound, which waken in the hearts 
of his hearers all the old feverish longings, all 
the dear youthful dreams, all the delicious 
romances which accompanied the lovely white- 
winged Sentiment in days past and dead for ever. 
Strange to say, it often happens that the musi- 
cian, while thus appeasing his own insatiable 
thirst for “ imaginary ” love, is frequently aware 
that he is arousing it in others ; and, could he 
probe to the very fibres of his thinking soul, he 
would confess to a certain keen satisfaction in 
the fact of his being able to revivify the old rest- 
less yearning of a pain which is sweeter to the 
lonely soul than pleasure. 

Now this expression of the “ lonely soul ” is 
used advisedly, because, in sad truth, every 
human soul is lonely. Lonely at birth, — still 
more lonely at death. During its progress 
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through life it gathers around it what it can in 
the way of crumbs of love, grains of affection, 
taking them tenderly and with tears of grateful- 
ness. But it is always conscious of solitude, — 
an awful yet Divine solitude, over which the 
Infinite broods, watchful yet silent. Why it is 
brought into conscious being, to live within a 
material frame and there perform certain duties 
and labours, and from thence depart again, it 
cannot tell. All is a mystery, — a strange Ne- 
cessity, in which it cannot truly recognize its 
part or place. Yet it is, — and one of the 
strongest proofs of its separate identity from the 
body is this “ imaginary ” love for which it 
yearns, and which it never obtains. “ Imagi- 
nary ” love is not earthly, — neither is it heav- 
enly, — it is something between both, a vague and 
inchoate feeling, which, though incapable of being 
reduced to any sort of reason or logic, is the 
foundation of perhaps all the greatest art, music, 
and poetry in the world. If we had to do 
merely with men as they are and women as they 
are, Art would perish utterly from the face of 
the earth. It is because we make for ourselves 
“ ideal ” men, “ ideal ” women, and endow these 
fair creations with the sentiment of “ imaginary ” 
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“IMAGINARY” LOVE 

love, that we still are able to communicate with 
the gods. Not yet have we lowered ourselves 
to the level of the beasts, — nor shall we do so, 
though things sometimes seem tending that way. 
Realism and Atheism have darkened the world, 
as they darken it now, long before the present 
time, and as defacements on the grandeur of the 
Universe they have not been permitted to remain. 
Nor will they be permitted now, — the reac- 
tion will, and must inevitably set in. The 
repulsive materialism of Zola, and others of 
his school, — the loose theories of the “ smart ” 
set, and the moral degradation of those who 
have no greater God than self, — these things 
are the merest ephemera, destined to leave no 
more mark on human history than the trail of 
a slug on one leaf of an oak. The ideal must 
always be triumphant, — the soul can only hope 
to make way by climbing towards it. Thus it 
is with “ imaginary ” or ideal Love, — it must 
hold fast to its ideal, or be content to perish 
on the plane of sensual passion, which exhausts 
itself rapidly, and once dead is dead forever 
and aye. 

With all its folly, sweetness, piteousness, and 
pathos, “ imaginary ” love is the keynote of 
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Art, — its fool-musings take shape in exquisite 
verse, in tales of romance and adventure, in 
pictures that bring the nations together to stand 
and marvel, in music that makes the strong man 
weep. It is the most supersensual of all deli- 
cate sensations, — as fine as a hair, as easily 
destroyed as the gnat’s wing; — a rough touch 
will wound it, — a coarse word will kill it, — 
the sneer of the Realist shuts it in a coffin of 
lead and sinks it fathoms deep in the waters of 
despair. Strange and cruel as the fact may seem, 
Marriage appears to put an end to it altogether. 

44 2Etynfe £ou if llatira l)as been petrarrffs nnfe 
H?e tooulo tjabe toritten sonnets to fjer all Ins life? ” 

inquires Lord Byron. He certainly would 
not. The “ imaginary ” love of Petrarch was 
the source of his poetic inspiration ; if he had 
ever dragged it down to the level of the com- 
monplace Actual, he would have killed his 
Muse. In a similar way the love of Dante for 
Beatrice was of the “ imaginary ” quality. Those 
who read the “Vita Nuova ” will scarcely fail 
to see how the great poet hugs his love-fancies 
and feeds himself with delicious extravagances 
in the way of idealized and sublimated soul- 


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“IMAGINARY” LOVE 

passion. He dissects every fine hair of a stray 
emotion, and writes a sonnet on every passing 
heart-beat. Dante’s wife never became so trans- 
figured in her husband’s love. Why ? Alas, 
who can say ! No reason can be given save 
that perchance “ familiarity breeds contempt,” 
and that the unattainable seems always more 
beautiful than the attained. The delight of 
possession would appear to be as brief as the 
flowering of a rose. Lovers are in haste to 
wed, — but when the knot is once irrevocably 
tied, in nine cases out of ten they wish it could 
be untied again. They no longer imagine 
“ imaginary ” love. The glamour is gone. 
Illusions are all over. The woman is no longer 
the removed, the fair, the chaste, the unreach- 
able, — the man ceases to be the proud, the 
strong, — the hero endowed with the attributes 
of the gods. “ Imaginary ” love then resolves 
itself into one of two things, — a firm, every-day 
close and tender friendships or else a sick disap- 
pointment often ending in utter disgust. But 
the divine emotion of “ imaginary ” love has 
fled, — the Soul is no longer enamoured of its 
Ideal — and the delicate psychic passion which 
inspires the poet, the painter, the musician, turns 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


at once to fresh objects of admiration and pur- 
suit. For it is never exhausted, — unlike any 
purely earthly sense, it knows no satiety. De- 
ceived in one direction, it flies in another. Dis- 
satisfied with worldly things, it extends its 
longing heavenwards, — there at least it shall 
find what it seeks, — not now, but hereafter! 
Age does not blunt this fine emotion, for, as 
may often be remarked with some beautiful souls 
in the decline of bodily life, the resigning of 
earthly enjoyments gives them no pain, — and 
the sweet placidity of expectation, rather than 
the dull apathy of regret, is their chief charac- 
teristic. “ Imaginary ” love still beckons them 
on; — what has not been found Here will be 
found There ! 

Happy, and always to be envied, are those 
who treasure this aerial sentiment of the spirit- 
ual brain ! It is the dearest possession of every 
true artist. In every thought, in every creative 
work or plan, “ imaginary ” love goes before, 
pointing out wonders unseen by less enlightened 
eyes, — hiding things unsightly, disclosing things 
lovely, and making the world fair to the mind 
in all seasons, whether of storm or calm. In- 
tensifying every enjoyment, adding a double 


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“IMAGINARY” LOVE 

thrill to the notes of a sweet song, lending an 
extra glow to the sunshine, an added radiance to 
the witchery of the moonlight, a more varied 
and exquisite colouring to the trees and flowers, 
a charm to every book, a delight to every new 
scene, “ imaginary ” love, a very sprite of en- 
chantment, helps us to believe persistently in 
good, when those who love not at all, neither in 
reality nor in idealization, are drowning in the 
black waters of suicidal despair. 

So it is well for us — those who can — to 
imagine “imaginary” love. We shall never 
grasp the Dream in this world — nevertheless 
let us fly after it as though it were a Reality ! 
Its path is one of sweetness more than pain, — 
its ways are devious, yet even in sadness still 
entrancing. Better than rank, better than wealth 
is this talisman, which with a touch brings us 
into close communication with the Higher 
worlds. Let us “ imagine ” our friends are 
true ; let us “ imagine ” we are loved for our 
own sakes alone, — let us “ imagine,” as we 
welcome our acquaintances into our homes, that 
their smiles and greetings are sincere — let us 
imagine “imaginary” love as the poets do, — a 
passion tender, strong, and changeless — and 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


pursue it always, even if the objects, which for a 
moment its passing wings have brushed, crumble 
into dust beneath that touch of fire ! So shall 
our lives retain the charm of constant Youth and 
Hope, — so shall the world seem always beautiful 
to us, — so shall the Unimaginable glory of the 
future Real-in-Love shine nearer every day in 
our faithful, fond pursuit of its flying Shadow ! 


OG0GGG00GGG0GG00GGG0G00GG G00G00GG00G00GGG00GGGG0G0 

A FORGIVENESS 


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A FORGIVENESS 


“ That curse shall he Forgiveness ! ” 

Byron’s Childe Harold 

? geS, — But 31 
cannot forget, 

for tfjr bcatf)leSS J>oul is 
strong, 

3lnD 40ob ItHmSelf can nctoer 
efface 

3ltS memorp of a IBrong ; 

5CnU tfjotigf) pouareticati anti lain in pour gratae 
3tnb tfje etail pou turougfjt is bone, 

Cliougli pour lips arc colb in tlje cobering 
moulb, 

get pour DaStarb Hie libcS on ! 

f orgibe ? feS, — But 31 cannot forget 
€f)e merciless, murberouS tfjtust 
<©f pour treacherous Ijanb taiitl) its baclttoarb 
Blob) 

IBljen pou ftillcb mp toljolc life's trust ; 
<£rabing mp pitp, pou Brofte mp heart 
3Cnb slanbereb mp name anb fame, — 

25p tljc Christian creeb, 31 forgibe pou, cotoarb ! 
Het tljc parbon be pour Shame ! 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


jforgibe ? ffeb, — as? tlje €pribt forgabe 
JlE>pen ttjc gpibab Itibb toab giben, 

5tnb ipell bucft'b boton tJ>e traitor’b soul 
l©pile pis curse toab pronounr’b in I^eaben ! 
I^otping bo loto, anb notping bo babe 
51b a btab in tfjc baeft of a frienb, 

5tnb tpobc topo bain pou banble tpe ftnife 
Scarce toottber’b at pour enb ! 

f orgibe ? Seb, — mp forgibenebb bljalf burn 
<©n pour grabe in “ coalb of fire,” — 

3lt spall Pinble into a flame anb leap 
€o tpe peigpt of mp life’b bebire, 

3t spall reacp btraigpt up to tpc gateb of 
<35ob, 

5Uttb tpere lifte a £toorb bpall btap, 

5tnb, lebt pou tome bneafeing out of iiJell 
3lt bpall bar pour peabentoarb toap ! 

3t bpall toarn pou off toitp tpe ligptning flabp 
<©f an ponebt faitp betrap’b — 

3t bpall bput pou out from tpe garben of <£3ob, 
5llnb polb pou bach afraib, — 
aiifte a torep of terror aboton pour barb 
3tb enblebb flare bpall bpine, 

Stub bpreab lifte a toibetting gulf of fire 
SSettoecn pour bpirit anb mine. 

174 


©0O3O3O00O0OG00O0GO00GO00 ►p O©0©OG©©0©©0OOO0©OOG©O©OO 

A FORGIVENESS 


forgibc ? ics — but 31 Sb«l* not forget ! 

3 Shall beep pour name in mp prapere, 
€bat <£3oD map remember as bull as 3 
€l)e infamoue taint it bears! 

3 forgibc — 3 forgibc ! 23ut 3 shall not 
forget ; — 

3tnb as long as tljc great tuorlbs roll, 

2^p forgibeneSs Shall be as the Seal of boom 
f ijeeb boton upon pour Soul ! 


175 





©3G0GGOGOG0OOG0OOGGOOGGGO ^ ©GOOGGGGGOOGO0Q0O0OGGXD0GO 


-CAR E-T AKERS” 






12 


1 77 








































































0030330300000033300000000 ^ ©000000000000000000000000 


“CARE-TAKERS” 

A WARNING TO HOUSE-OWNERS 


HE word cc care-taker ” conveys, 
or would seem to convey, an 
impression that is both Chris- 
tian and consolatory. To “ take 
care ” of things or persons is 
eminently proper and virtuous, 

— to accept care, another way of “ taking ” it, 

— namely, to willingly undergo a certain amount 
of trouble and vexation in order to spare others, 
is really almost sublime. But in these degene- 
rate days of ours it does not always do to give 
literal significations to words in common use. 
They often, with strange and unaccountable 
capriciousness, mean the exact reverse of what 
they seem. “ Care-taker ” is a notable example 
of this fact, — for in the modern acceptance of 
the term it really signifies an individual who, so 
far as material and mundane needs go, is totally 
free from care, and who, moreover, has no inten- 
tion of “ taking care” of anything or anybody. 
cc Care-taker ” means a person, sometimes mas- 
culine, but more often feminine, who lives rent- 

179 




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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


free and pays no taxes, — who has a small stock 
of generally useful second-hand furniture which 
is moved at his or her command from house to 
house wherever best convenience calls, and who 
is paid for eating, drinking, sleeping, and doing 
nothing in “ desirable mansions ” whose owners 
are out of town, or who, for some dark reason 
connected with the funds, are wishful “To Let 
Immediately.” Care-takers are not at all like 
the rest of humanity ; they are a race apart, with 
peculiar manners and customs of their own. 
Many of them have a fondness for the “ cup 
that cheers ; ” many more exhibit a decided par- 
tiality for the glass which “ inebriates/’ Some 
of them would even appear to use whisky as a 
general and agreeable perfume, to judge from 
the odours which are diffused from their hair 
and clothes, when they open front doors to 
belated inquirers after absent friends, or any 
seekers after unfurnished houses. Whosoever 
is in the latter category of sufferers and martyrs 
deserves and shall have our sincerest sympathy. 
We know what he is going through ! We know 
what the “ agents ” will do to him ! He will be 
told that there is a “Charming Residence” on 
the “delightful elevation ” of Campden Hill, for 

180 


0GOQO0O0OO0OOOOOO0©©©©©©© ^ ©0OGGOO0OOG0OOOGGOOG0OOO0 

“CAR E-T AKERS” 

instance, and he will find out that it is nothing 
but a small and paltry “ semi-detached ” in the 
depressing depths of the Holland Villas Road, 
with the bath-tap! broken and the water coming 
through. He will wander hopefully into May- 
fair, decoyed by the prospect of living “ off* Park 
Lane” in a “bijou” establishment — 

Stop ! I really must break off here to deliver 
a solemn warning against this word “ bijou.” 
Beware of it ! — all good patient folk who go 
house-hunting, beware of it ! Fly from that 
fatal expression as you would from the plague ! 
“ Bijou ” has a delightful meaning in ordinary 
French parlance; it signifies a “jewel” and, 
when used as a term of endearment, a “ darling/’ 
Charming ! — oh, yes ! — quite soothing to the 
mind is this pretty word in French. But in 
plain, downright, house-agenty English it means 
“ den,” — “ hole,” — or “ rather dark cellar- 
age.” It has nothing to do with jewels or 
darlings. It implies a want of room and a bad 
smell. It does indeed. It is like the frequently 
advertised “Artistic Residence,” — which means 
dark corners and small windows, — namely, very 
little air and no light. Once understand these 
things, and you will not be twice deceived. 

181 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


And this brings me round to the subject I 
started with — “ care-takers,” because it was at 
a u bijou ” place I came into collision with the 
first example of that species. The “ bijou ” in 
question was near the Park ; a small house 
squeezed in between two monster ones. The 
street-door looked like a narrow slit in the wall, 
and the windows were black with soot that had 
accumulated surely for several years, — months 
could hardly have done it. I rang the cracked 
bell, and waited some ten minutes, — finally 
a shuffling step was heard inside (care-takers 
always walk with a shuffle like a certain genus 
of baboon), and a female appeared, hastily pull- 
ing her dress over a somewhat decolletee bosom. 
Her hair was wildly negligent, — her eye blood- 
shot and severe, — one tooth projected over her 
underlip, — the rest of the dental arrangement 
was missing. She surveyed me with a malign 
and discouraging aspect, apparently scorning to 
open the conversation. So I began : 

“ This house is to let, I believe ? Can I 
see it ? ” 

“ Where ’s yer order ? ” demanded the lady. 

I produced it. 

She sniffed at the paper suspiciously, and then 
182 


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“CAR E-T AKERS” 


preceded me into a sort of square pantry called 
by courtesy a “ hall,” and flung wide open two 
doors, one of the dining-room, the other of the 
drawing-room, out of which apartments rushed 
a fine aroma like that which arises from the 
canals of Venice on a very hot day. 

“ Are these all the reception rooms ? ” I 
inquired. 

“ Hall ? ” she echoed, staring at me — “ hall ? 
Yes, hall ! ” 

I said, “ Thanks ! I will not trouble you 
further.” 

But she made no movement, either to let me 
pass or to show me out. 

“I’ve bin ’ere,” she stated, — “these two 
years, and my darter’s baby was born in the 
kitching.” 

“ Indeed ! ” I murmured, politely endeavour- 
ing to edge my way to the door. But she stuck 
her stout arms akimbo and proceeded : 

“ They wants a premium for this place, and 
I sez to them, sez I, ‘You ’ll never get it.’ I 
sez that. No more they won’t. There ’s a 
view of the Park from the back.” 

This last observation was thrown in, as it 
were, casually. 

i8 3 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


“I am aware of that,” I said — “ But I am 
not particular about the Park. Good-morning ! ” 
“Well, that’s what I sez,” she went on mo- 
rosely — “ I sez c there ’s those that does n’t care 
for the Park and there ’s those that does. But 
a premium you ’ll not get.’ Why, when my 
darter’s baby was born in that kitching, we was 
afraid he would be eat up by the rats, there ’s 
such a many of them. And beetles. There ’s 
a many of them too. Lord bless yer, half them 
premiums goes into the hagents’ pockets ! The 
old lady as was here last drunk herself to death 
— and there won’t be a penny spent on repairs ! ” 
By this time I had found out how to open the 
street-door for myself, — and I made my exit 
thankfully, the Venetian-canal odour being some- 
what overpowering. En passant I may mention 
that for this house, dirty, undecorated, and in 
the worst possible repair, a rent was asked of 
^250 per annum, and Four Thousand Pounds 
premium ! 

My next experience in the way of “care- 
takers ” was of an excitable lady who was too 
far gone in her cups to be aware of her duties. 
She was placed in charge of a rather handsome 
house, — handsome as far as its exterior went. 

184 


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“C A R E-T AKERS” 


Of the interior I am unable to speak, as the 
convival “ care-taker ” had not the vaguest idea 
of admitting me. She opened the door about 
the width of half a yard, and peered at me with 
her rolling, restless eyes, her blotched and in- 
flamed face producing quite a heating effect on 
the immediate atmosphere. 

“It’s a good ’ouse,” — she observed, lurch- 
ing to and fro like a landsman at sea in a heavy 
storm — “ A good ’ouse! Yes, I say it — a 
good ’ouse, — and we wants to let it — hie — 
hie ! — to good tenants ! Yaah — yaah ! ” 

This wild ejaculation was addressed to a poor 
thin cat who came feebly trying to make its way 
in at the door. 

“ Git out, you beast! Nasty, dirty brute! 
Gives me more trouble than the whitewashers, 
it do ! It ’s a good house ! ” and here she nearly 
fell forward — “ for good tenants, — I ’ve lived 
here myself for a twelvemonth ! ” 

With that she banged the door full in my 
face, and I straightway fled, wondering whether 
the owner of the “ good ’ouse ” had any notion 
as to the way in which his property was “ taken 
care ” of. I suppose not, — for day after day 
I see it still “To Let,” and I fancy it will not 


©OOOOGOGGOOG0GOOO0G0GOGGG ►£< G0GQ0QGGOGGO0GGGGG0GGGG0O 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


easily find a tenant so long as its present “ care- 
taker” finds her lodgment comfortable. 

One morning I came upon an odd “ care- 
taker ” in a pretty house near Kensington 
Gardens. It was a “ he ” this time, — a placid, 
cunning, bent little old man with the air of the 
respectable retired butler about him. He was of 
a curious disposition, — garrulous, yet reticent; 
— he would begin to talk about the former owner 
of the house, and then would pull himself up 
short as though afraid of betraying confidence. 
The rooms were very handsomely decorated, — 
but it seemed that the owner had given it up 
abruptly after only three years’ tenancy. 

“ It looked beautiful,” said the grey-haired 
cicerone with a smothered sigh — “ when it was 
all furnished. There was the Venus of Mydeses 
(Medicis) in the boudoir, and there was statues 
and busts all about, and oak-framed pictures in 
the dining-room, — yes! it was really quite bee- 
autiful when he had it all done up — ” 

Here he broke off and dusted the banisters. 

“ Why did he leave it after spending so much 
money upon it ? ” I asked. 

The respectable old gentleman looked at me 
shrewdly. 


186 


<9O0G©0OGGGG©0©GG©GGG0GQGO ©©©©©GGOOQOGOOOOGGGGO0G©© 

“C A R E-T AKERS” 

“ Ah ! ” he responded with a curious expres- 
sion in his filmy eyes — “ Why indeed ! ” 

This was baffling, and he seemed to think it so, 
for by way of relenting, he confided to me the in- 
formation (a well-worn ruse) that there had already 
been several people after the house, and that I had 
better see about it at once if I wished to secure it. 
I took the information very unconcernedly. 

“ Oh, I am not at all keen about it,” I said — 
“ I have seen a house in Gladys Gardens I like 
rather better.” 

He started as if I had given him a shock. 

“ Gladys Gardens ! ” he exclaimed — “ Lord 
love you ! Why, Gladys Gardens is going down 
every year ! It's gone down since my time — 
I used to live there — I was there when the 
murder was committed!” 

This was rather an unpleasant light to throw 
on Gladys Gardens, and its desirability seemed 
at once on the wane. 

“ What murder ? ” I asked. 

“ Oh, well, it was some time ago,” he said, now 
appearing benevolently anxious not to cause me 
unnecessary alarm — “ But it was a shocking mur- 
der ! — and Gladys Gardens has gone down ever 
You ’d much better live here than there ! ” 
187 


since. 


©O00OO0OOO0OOOOGGO000OG0O ©GOGO0OGOGOOOGOGQOG0OOG0O 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


With which parting recommendation he bowed 
me out urbanely, having done his utmost best, 
at all risks, for his employer’s advantage. 

Of the number of babies born in “ desirable 
mansions” and “ Noble Residences” it would 
be hopeless to attempt any calculation. The 
comfortable quarters enjoyed by “ care-takers,” 
coupled with good pay, make them, as a rule, 
unwilling to move when once installed, and 
reluctant to praise the qualities of the house 
they inhabit, lest they should be forced to va- 
cate for an actual paying tenant. So that if 
they are very cosy, and have made a family 
home and birthplace of some warm and roomy 
basement in De Vere Gardens or Kensington 
Gate or other fashionable neighbourhoods, and 
you want to take the house that serves them so 
well as lodging, you may be sure you will hear 
something doubtful about the drainage, the 
water, or the waste-pipes, or the “ closeness ” or 
the “darkness,” — something to scare you off, 
in fact, and enable them to stay where they are 
in peace, and leave you out in the cold. This 
plan of action is so obviously natural, that it 
is very strange lessees of houses do not perceive 
it. Many houses in London have been occu- 


GGGOOQOO0OOGOQGGO0GGGOOOO >J< O00GGOO0GO0O©OOOOO©G0G0©O 

“CARE-TAKERS” 

pied by “care-takers” for three or four years, 
never seeming to have any chance of letting — 
and considering what a loss of money this means 
to the actual owners, surely the question of 
“ care-taking ” deserves some consideration. Of 
course, the fabulous rents asked for mere boxes 
and barns of accommodation in good centres is 
one great reason for the non-letting of houses, as 
also the prevailing preference for “ flats,” — but 
the “ care-takers ” have their share in the ob- 
struction, and so have the house-agents. So, 
also, has the system of demanding “ premiums ” 
— a system which is positively nefarious. Re- 
cently a friend of mine was asked two thousand 
guineas premium for a house whose rental was 
^180 per annum. He was a big, broad- 
shouldered American, and took matters coolly. 

“What do you want a premium for?” he 
demanded. 

“For the improvements — the position, — 
the last owner spent a great deal on the place.” 

“ He did, did he ? Well, where ’s he gone to 
now ? ” 

“ He has bought a place in the country.” 

“ Oh ! Well, you just ask him if he was 
thinking about me when he fixed up those c im- 
189 


O000GOG000O0OOOOO00G0G0G0 ^ OOG0GO0OOO0O0OO0G00G00000 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


provements * ? If he was, I ’ll give him a hun- 
dred dollars ! But if he was planning out all 
those things for himself and his own comfort, 
and now wants me to pay for what he got the 
newest and best of, he’s just as mean a cuss as 
ever hung between this world and the next ! ” 
This was a sort of logic not accepted by 
house-agents, — and the consequence of his re- 
fusal to pay the premium demanded lost him 
the “ desirable residence” he had been inclined 
to take. But it is still unlet, and seems likely to 
remain so. It may here be remarked that house- 
agents themselves generally suggest the asking of 
premiums. And why ? Because they get their 
own percentage out of it. In the business of 
house-letting, as in other trades and professions, 
things would go on much better without the 
“ middle-man.” If owners of houses could and 
would come into direct communication with 
intending tenants, they would find matters much 
more satisfactory in every respect, but no doubt 
it will take some time, and a good deal of bitter 
experience as well, to persuade them of the fact. 
And meantime, excellent houses remain empty 
for years, given over to dirt and neglect and 
“ care-takers ” who do not pay for the roof that 


O0OOG0O000GXD0GOGQ0OO0OQOO GGGGOGGOGG000OGGGGGOGQG0O 

“CARE-TAKERS” 

shelters them, and who take no sort of interest 
in their employer’s loss or gain. 

One of the strangest “ care-takers ” I ever 
came across was a small old boy with a wizened 
pale face, — and spectacles. Out of sheer curio- 
sity I asked him how old he was — he said four- 
teen, and I was bound to believe him. But he 
looked more like seventy, and badly worn at 
that. He had the most precocious knowledge 
of domestic arrangements, — he knew all about 
gas-stoves and “ kitcheners,” — and, what was 
rather remarkable, he had an aesthetic taste in 
colours. He showed me over a newly-decorated 
house, not far off Cadogan Square, and observed 
that it would probably have to be re-done for 
“ any person of taste who was still young enough 
to care ! ” 

“The colouring in the drawing-room,” said the 
small old boy, with an inimitable air of fastidi- 
ous repugnance, “ is quite trying to the nerves.” 

I looked in, and found it really was so — 
garish and gaudy to an extreme — and I asked 
him playfully how he managed to stand it. 

“ I am accustomed to it,” said the small old 
boy wearily, taking off his spectacles, wiping 
them, and putting them on again — “that is, in 
191 


G0000OO000OO00000OOG00GG0 G000000000000000000000000 

“CARE-TAKERS” 

a way, you know. One never does get out-and- 
out hardened to it. This — ” and he threw 
open a door — “ is the dining-room. It should 
have had an oak dado ! ” 

“ Of course ! ” I said, delighted with the small 
old boy’s feeling for art. He seemed cheered 
by my encouragement and proceeded : 

“ An oak dado and overmantel to match. 
The tint of the ceiling would then have to be 
modified. As it is at present no person of taste 
would stand it — not as a permanency.” 

“ How long have you been here ? ” I inquired. 
“ I shall have occupied this position some 
three months to-morrow,” said the small old boy 
with a certain stateliness of manner — “ But I 
think of resigning it shortly to my mother. I ’m 
rather tired of it myself, though it has served me 
well for reading purposes.” 

“For reading purposes!” I looked at him 
wonderingly, — he was so meagre and wan and 
worn and ancient of aspect. 

“ You see,” he went on placidly — “ you want 
quiet when you are studying for anything. And 
it ’s very quiet here. As they say in Hamlet , 
c not a mouse stirring.’ ” 

u Ah ! you read Shakespeare then ? ” 

192 


GQ00GOOOO00OOOGO0OGOGGOO© ►J* OGGOO©OO©O0G0GO000©©©O©©0 

“CARE-TAKERS” 

“ I learn the various parts in the principal 
plays,” he replied with dignity— “I am going 
to be an actor.” 

“ Indeed ! ” I did my best not to laugh, — 
the small old boy was so earnest and solemn. 

“ I have calculated,” he said, “ that in from 
eight to ten years Henry Irving will be, as they 
say, on his last legs. I shall be twenty-four, 
and shall have played any small parts I can get 
in the provinces till then. I shall save all the 
money I can, and live as the Greek philosophers 
lived, on simple food, — and when I am about 
thirty-two I shall take the Lyceum or Her 
Majesty’s. That is my plan.” 

“A very ambitious one!” I observed — 
“ Plans are not always realized, you know ! ” 

The small old boy smiled a superior smile. 

“ Not unless one is determined to realize them,” 
he said with singular emphasis — “Then things 
arrange themselves somehow. I am quite cer- 
tain of my game ! ” 

And he escorted me to the door. 

“You think you’ll take this house?” he 
asked. 

“ N-n-no ! I fancy not.” 

“ You are right ! ” said the small old boy ap- 
13 193 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


provingly — a It ’s only a patched-up concern — 
just made to look new for the present. In six 
months all the gloss will be off, and it will ap- 
pear as just what it is — a badly-built barrack. 
Good-morning ! ” 

“ Good-morning ! ” 

The door closed. I waited a minute, then 
peered curiously in through the window, and 
dimly perceived the small old boy seated in soli- 
tary state on a kitchen chair in the bleak empty 
dining-room, patiently studying a book that 
rested on his knee. I moved away reluctantly 
at last and with a veritable sensation of awe, 
feeling that, whatever annoyances I had been 
subjected to in the way of “ care-takers,” I had 
been repaid at last by my interview with this 
particular example of the species ! For if ambi- 
tion, perseverance, study, self-reliance and deter- 
mination count for anything in this world — 
(and they do go a long way in the furtherance 
of one’s desires) then I had seen a future “star” 
of the histrionic firmament. We all know how 
fond actors are of telling us in after-dinner 
speeches how they arrived in London ready to 
take the world by storm with only sixpence in 
their pockets, — in fact this dramatic sixpence 
194 


GO0GGGQQGOGOQGOOOOOOGG0OG ^ ©©©©©0GGOQGOGOOOOGGGGOGO0 


“CAR E-T AKERS” 


has become quite proverbial, and many a deep- 
mouthed ranter has alluded to the possession of 
that humble coin as the grand foundation of all 
his after career. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” — he will remark 
in his mellow-throated way — “When I first 
started in life with only sixpence in my pocket — ” 
and so on. This is the generally accepted and 
acceptable opening of a truly “ telling ” mum- 
mer’s speech, after a watch or a piece of plate 
has been presented to him by his admirers. 

Now, if I should live another ten years, and at 
the end of that time, a celebrated actor dear to the 
fashionable public should make his after-dinner 
observations thus : “ Ladies and gentlemen, — 
When I first started in life as a c care-taker’ — ” 
I shall know it is the small old boy, and that I, 
by happy chance, was privileged to behold in 
that menial, though rent-and-tax-free position, 
the successor to the fame of Henry Irving ! 


95 














©QOOQOOGGQO0GXDOGXDGOQOOOOO ►J* ©GGOG©G©OOGOO0O©©OOG©0©©0 

J O E’S ORCHID 


197 






























































©GXDGGOGQOO0GGCDOOGGGQOOOOG ^ ©GGOGGGOOGGG GG©©©OGG<DG©©© 


JOE’S ORCHID 


€ took a little time to groto, 
$be ! 

€f)c Sprouting of itb l cab css 
toab blob), 
i©e kitoto ; 

2$ut noto itb sktniug bubb 

utifolb, 

2£>rigf)t ab tfje glittecing Cranbbaal golb ; — 

’€ ib toortfjp of a Special “ b&oto," 

5Toe! 

’C toab pebteteb bp an inbect foe, 
foe! 

Cpe (jornb creature toouib n’t go 
25eloto ; — 

Cfje natibc, gnatoing, ttorioub 23oer 

filing to ttb berp root anb tore, 

5llnb trieb pour little temper bo ! 

foe! 

25ut nob) abmiring tfjankb toe otoe 
foe! 

Co pou tofjo forceb tfje flotoer to bloto, 
3Mtkougk 

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©OOOQO©0QO©®00GOO000GO000 ^ ©0OOOOO00GGGO0OO000G00G00 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Cfje trail of fyuman PIooP anP pain 
I^ap left upon itp leaped a ptain ; — 

2&ut tfjat pou cannot Ijclp, toe ftnoto, 

^oe ! 

4Borgcoup ttje golPeit bloppotnp cjloto, 

^oe! 

€an €nglanP put!) a plant forego ? 

i©I)P, no ! 

Hour pftill in PBreljiP tultiPation 
I^ap giPen up a conquereP nation ; — 

25ut, — mafte pou premier ? go ploto, 
3Foe! 


200 


OGGGGGGG00GGG0G0G00G00GG0 ►J* G000G0G0G0G00G0GGGG0G0G 00 

SAVAGE LONDON 


201 












. 











. 

































OO0OGO0O00000000QO00OG0GG ►{< 000GOO0OO0000G00OGGXDO00O0 

SAVAGE LONDON 


HERE are more than one 
hundred and eighty religious 
Sects in England ; — and all 
of them have Representatives 
in London. There are innu- 
merable Charity Organization 
Societies, — Missions without end, — Relief 
Funds with Centre Offices and Branch Offices 
in London. There is much preaching, much 
lecturing, much writing ; — yet, when all is said, 
done, and written, the grim result is the same, 
— namely that the squalor, filth, vice, ignorance, 
recklessness, wretchedness, and brutality of the 
great Majority of the Poor in our wealthy Eng- 
lish metropolis is a crying scandal, and “ a rank 
offence that smells to heaven.” The religious 
sects meet often and discuss much, — beginning 
their discussions generally with a bombastical flow 
of oratory, and ending in a violent wrangle over 
some knotty point of doctrine, while the miser- 
able creatures who cry to them for relief, cry in 
vain to ears that are deafened by selfishness 
and plugged up with conceit. A great deal too 
203 



O0O00G0G0GOOOOG0O0GO00O©© ^ O000GGQOGOQ0O00O0OOOGGQGO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


much of the money subscribed to charitable 
Societies goes to pay secretaries and underlings, 
and many and many a starving wretch has been 
turned ruthlessly away unaided from the doors 
of a stately building, flagrantly announcing itself 
as a “ Refuge for the Destitute.” Yet nowhere 
are there such large sums subscribed to Foreign 
Missions as in London ; — the Kaffir, the Zulu, 
the “Heathen Chinee,” — all these may appeal 
to London and be sure of a favourable answer. 
Dukes and Earls who love to see their names 
blazoned on lists of charitable donations would 
appear, from what is said about them in print, 
to take a deep interest in the whole world, ex- 
cept that particular portion of the globe from 
which they derive their own magnificent reve- 
nues, — and thousands of pounds are spent 
annually in reforming and civilizing the savage 
tribes of the desert and forest. Yet in the face 
of all this philanthropy, the horrible, almost 
incredible miseries of the London poor daily in- 
crease, and we know for a fact that, while money 
is constantly subscribed for the conversion of 
the foreign heathen to holy Christianity, an 
enormous population of native heathen, far more 
degraded than the most uncultured desert bar- 
204 


©OO00OGO00OO0G0OQ0OGGGXDOO GOQGG0© 0©O©O0G)G©G0©GG©©©O 

SAVAGE LONDON 


barians, swarm at the very doors of the wealthy 
would-be benefactors of humanity, and demand 
redress for their bitter and long-standing wrongs. 
It is a sorrow and scandal to us that it should 
be so ; but so it is. 

The neglect of years, and the rapid turn of the 
wheel of modern progress, has produced the 
London Savage, — a being more wild, more 
reckless and terrible than the most bloodthirsty 
Zulu that ever revelled in human gore. He 
may be met anywhere; — he lurks in dens be- 
hind some of the stateliest mansions of Kensing- 
ton and Belgravia. Rolling in filthy straw, in 
company with several other savages like himself, 
who, with their wives and children, all lie together 
in one damp, dark, foul-smelling room, he lays 
his plans of robbery and murder with the same 
equanimity and self-applause as a fashionable 
preacher pens his sermon for the coming Sunday. 
He knows no difference between virtue and vice, 
— morality or the reverse. His reasoning is 
simple, — in fact, quite primitive ; — if someone 
else happens to have what he wants and does not 
possess, such as a gold watch, for instance, or a 
purse of money, he considers himself justified in 
taking it, if not by persuasion, then by force. If 
205 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


he commits murder, he is perhaps caught and sen- 
tenced to be hung. Does he care ? Has he any 
remorse ? Any dread of death ? Not he ! He 
goes to the gallows with entire fortitude and dies 
like an ill-used martyr. His children remember 
him as such, and follow his example in due time, 
so that the hangman is still a necessary official. 

One of the cruellest answers given to the pam- 
phlet known as “The Bitter Cry of Outcast 
London,” was that “ London must wait.” — On 
the very top of this a letter was published in The 
Times from a Missionary, who begged for con- 
tributions towards providing suitable homes for 
English working-men in Paris. It is most 
probable that the Dukes and Earls and Marquises 
of this land came readily forward in response to 
the appeal, leaving the London Savage in his old 
quarters, the centres of typhoid, cholera and 
small-pox, without more than a reiteration of 
what had already been said — “London must 
wait.” And still Savage London does wait — in 
a peculiar way of its own. It is as much as one’s 
life is worth to walk on the Thames Embank- 
ment after dark, — people are knocked down or 
mysteriously made away with on Hampstead 
Heath, Wandsworth Common, and other lonely, 
206 


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SAVAGE LONDON 


outlying places, and the very policemen, whose 
anxious vigilance and active surveillance cannot 
be too highly estimated, are in such danger of 
their lives that they often need fire-arms in order 
to protect themselves during the exercise of their 
duty. Moreover, the London Savage has re- 
cently been making himself familiar with dyna- 
mite. Naturally, he approves of it, and chuckles 
over the admirable rapidity of its action in 
destroying life. He tries it in order to be quite 
certain of its effect. He has been known to 
place some on a railway line, just as a train is 
about to pass, just by way of experiment. The 
female London Savage has also found out a 
suitable pastime for herself in vitriol throwing, 
— a pastime the idea of which she has borrowed 
from her sister the Paris cc Petroleuse.” How 
delightful to scarify, blister, and burn into utter 
hideousness the face of some man or woman 
who has become repulsive to her ! It is a task 
which entirely satisfies her feminine instincts. 
Some grave clergyman will perhaps take her 
very seriously to task for having smothered her 
baby under a mattress. She will not see the 
force of his reasoning in the least. She will 
state rough facts in the face of his fancy argu- 
207 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


ments. She will tell him there was no room for 
the baby in a den measuring seven feet by ten, 
where fifteen people huddle together, — she will 
also prove that there was no food for the baby, 
and no clothes either. It would have died any- 
how. So she goes cheerfully to prison for hav- 
ing smothered her child, and as she goes, she 
administers a few consolatory oaths to her brute 
companions, who congratulate her on her good 
fortune. Good fortune ? Certainly. She goes 
to prison, and prison means shelter and whole- 
some food at regular hours every day. For the 
English Government takes the tenderest care of 
its criminals. They are visited by the ministers 
of the Church, who bless them solemnly and 
commend their fragments of black souls to 
the care of Heaven ; and lady missionaries 
sit with them for an hour at a time, and give 
them good books and pretty little tracts to read. 
But for the miserable beings, who, in the midst 
of their misery, still feebly try to cling to 
honesty, there is no help — no hope. And so 
the evil grows and widens, like the ever moving 
ball of snow which gradually becomes an ava- 
lanche. The blood yet runs cold to read of 
the horrors of the French Revolution of 1789, 
208 


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SAVAGE LONDON 


— of the unbridled ferocity of the Paris mob, 
to whom the crushing of human life was no 
more than the killing of mosquitoes. The 
graphic picture of the whole frightful scene 
drawn by Thomas Carlyle is not so much a 
history as a warning. The English tempera- 
ment is much colder, more stolid and patient 
than that of the French, — but at the same 
time it is more deliberately cruel and brutal 
when once awakened to a sense of injustice, 
and smarting under inexplicable wrong. The 
London Savages, once let loose, would be more 
dangerous to deal with than even those Savages 
of Paris were. And who can tell how long 
London will wait? How long will its ferocious 
patience, the patience of a tiger waiting for its 
prey, continue to hold out ? One thing might 
certainly be done in the meantime, and that is, to 
draw in all the money that is pouring out of the 
great English capital to the relief of foreigners, 
and let it flow into the proper channels. Charity 
begins at home. It is a mockery of wealth to 
use it for the benefit of strange nations who, as 
soon as not, will turn and rend us, while neglect- 
ing our own people. The immense river of 
golden coin which rushes abundantly out of 
14 209 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


England on the least appeal to its generosity, 
should be turned in the right direction, — home- 
ward. Let it flow down the city slums, — let 
it reach to the wretched hovels that lie within 
a stone’s throw of the King’s Palace of Windsor, 

— let it sweep away some of the accumulated 
mountains of misery in the homes of the poor, 

— and Savage London, melted to the heart, 
may yet learn to believe in a beneficent Creator, 
for whom at present it has less honour and less 
faith than the most abandoned heathen wor- 
shipper of wooden idols. Recognize the fact, 
good people ! — Christian London is more than 
half heathen, and the sooner this terrible truth 
is taken to heart, the more hope there is of 
those who are sincerely religious and charitable 
hastening to the immediate rescue of their 
perishing kindred, the limit of whose stupefied 
endurance has been nearly reached, and when 
reached must culminate in some appalling dis- 
aster. It is a matter which at Christmas-time 
calls for some consideration among the numer- 
ous other claims which are set forward as 
worthy of remembrance by the influential and 
wealthy. Persons who give Two Thousand 
Guineas for a horse might ponder it, — and 


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SAVAGE LONDON 


those who are rushing abroad to spend their 
money on the gambling tables of Monte Carlo 
might also take it to heart. The “Hooligan” 
is made of human material like ourselves ; he 
is not a special sort of manufacture. He is 
the unfortunate result of long years of neglect 
inflicted on his class by his brothers ; yet he 
is our blood and kin, and perhaps if we knew 
all about him, we should find that his faults 
of breeding and education are not so much 
his as the faults of those who leave him neg- 
lected in his lair. The King, whose earnest 
exertions on behalf of the “ Housing of the 
Poor ” have scarcely been done full justice to, 
has, perhaps, nothing more at heart than the 
desire to remedy the evils of overcrowding, 
and to alleviate the misery resulting from 
want of proper breathing-room and light, — and 
Queen Alexandra’s gentle and noble efforts in 
the same direction have added an extra grace to 
the many which adorn her life and character. 
But both the King and the Queen naturally 
expect response and assistance from the wealthier 
of their subjects in so great and necessary a 
work. Missionaries in India who spend time 
and money in endeavouring to “convert” Hin- 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


doos, who are often more truly religious than 
some of their would-be teachers, would do well 
to turn their efforts towards “ Hooliganism,” 
and Jesuit priests who go about collecting funds 
to build more Roman Catholic Churches than 
are needed or wished for in a Protestant country, 
would build a truer and far more convincing 
Spiritual fabric if they would use some of their 
surplus cash for the rescue of such London 
heathens who have never heard of either Prot- 
estantism or Romanism, or indeed of any 
religious faith at all. To such blighted and 
disastrous lives in the purlieus of the great city, 
Christ would assuredly go first of all, if He ever 
came again with the Divine Christmas message 
of “ Good-Will.” 



* 



ONE ROSE! 



213 






































































G000GG00GGG0GOOGG0OGG0O00 >J< ©0GGO0O0OOOGOGGG000OOOG0O 

ONE ROSE! 


— Dropped from Ijcc breapt 
P pfie pappeb along, 
te a fluttering birb from a 
nept, 

'r tfie final note of a pong — 
: — ap fragile anti fair 
3Gp tfie tooman fietpelf, 3 ptoear ! 
f©itfi tfie ligfit of a tfioupanti punfieamp caugfit 
in tfie toaPep of fier golben fiair ! 

<©ne — tofiite ap tfie pnoto — 

It fell at fier feet, 
t©fien fier laugfiter, elear anti loin, 
iteplieti to tfie ferPib fieat 
<©f top loPcspJorDp toilb anti Pain, 

5tnD nip fieart greto numfi toitfi pain 
3Up fier mirtfiful motfterp crupfieb mp fieart, 
anti niabbencb nip foolipfi brain. 

f aretoell to mp bream ! 

3 pfioulb fiaPe ftnotun 
€fiat fiotoePer fair pfie map pecm, 
l^er fieart ip ap eolb ap ptone, 

215 



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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


311 mirror of Social bice, 

311 bparftliitg nugget of ice, 
t&tlueb at “ po much ” or more, rcabp for bale 
at its marftet price ! 

311 “ boeietp btar ? ” 

®cs, that ib true : 

^he ib proub ; bud) toomen are ; 

fct perhaps stje toill bmile on rule ! 
four turn toill come, mapbc : 

U£>l)o ftnotob ? perchance pou toill bee 
€he Iping glanceb, tl)c treacherous Smiles bljc 
latelp latoibtjeb on me. 

3f bo, pou can bap 
S ou met me tomigljt : 

€ell fjcr 31 toent rnp toap 
2Debpibing fjcc trumperp blight : 

&9an, after all, ib lung — 

13 c can laugh at the little bting 
<©f a tooman’b bcorn, tohcn the tooniait Ijcr^ 
bclf ib bo poor anti loto a thing. 

<©nc robe ! — it toill fabc 
<£re an hour he pabt — 

J>uch hothoube hlobbomb are onlp mabe, 
3tihe toomen — to toither fabt — 

2l6 


G00O©0OG)GGG0OGG©OGXDO©G0GO GX^XD00GG000G0G©G»©©0©0G0©00 

ONE ROSE 


3ltS leabeS luill upcurl aitb bie 
3ltt ait oborous Silent Stgb, 

5&nb onlp its little gliost toill Speaft of nip 
transient lobe gone bp. 

#ue rose — it is mine 
Co beep foe a tpfjilc — 

31 fancp it tuill not greatlp pine 
for tfje loss of pec labpSljip’S Smile — 
25p a cluster of biamonbS prest, 

’C teas Slain on licr eljillp breast ; 
Cogctpcr toe ’ll go, tfje rose anb 31 — toe 
both babe neeb of rest! 


217 



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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


219 






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THE LAURELS OF THE 
BRAVE 


HE was a thin, tall, “ willowy ” 
woman, long-necked, auburn- 
haired (“ Titian Gloire,” her 
coiffeur called it on the bottle), 
and dark-eyed, with a carefully 
got-up complexion and an ex- 
pensive way of wearing her clothes. She never 
paid less than six guineas for a pair of corsets, 
thirty guineas for a “ plain ” morning gown, 
and ten guineas for a “ simple ” hat. The 
prices of the various other articles of her attire 
may thus, by these little items, be dimly guessed 
at. Whenever she moved, shook her silk skirts, 
or played with her handkerchief, a faint odour was 
exhaled from her person, — an odour supposed 
to be “ violets,” but more like the last trail of a 
musk-rat. She passed for being very romantic 
and spirituelle , owing to a trick she had of clasp- 
ing her hands and looking up at the sky or the 
ceiling in a sudden ecstasy. She would do this, 
often without warning, in the middle of an 
ordinary commonplace conversation, greatly 



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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


disconcerting everyone else who happened to be 
present. Good-natured people said it was her 
“ soul-forces ” that got too strong for her on these 
occasions, — others shook their heads darkly and 
hinted that she had “ too much brain.” As a 
matter of fact, however, neither soul-forces nor 
brain-power were concerned in her composition, 
and the rapt “ pose ” which she found so effec- 
tive was the chief stock-in-trade of the “ leading 
lady ” at one of the theatres, from whom she had 
carefully copied it. Few women studied “ histri- 
onic ” attitudes as arduously as she did, and the 
chief object with which she ever attended a play 
at all was that she might take mental note of the 
languishing movements, the roll of the painted 
eyes, and the airs and graces generally of the 
newest fashionable heroine of the footlights, — 
not because the said heroine was an Actress, for 
that she never is by any chance nowadays, — but 
simply that she might copy her “ poses ” and 
her gowns. Yet with all the trouble she took, 
and all the nervous excitement she suffered lest 
any “ other ” woman of her particular style and 
contour should turn up and compete with her on 
her own lines of conquest, she was not so much 
in the “ social swim ” as she craved to be. No. 


222 


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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


There was some fatality about it. She — “ the 
beautiful Mrs. Arteroyd,” as she was occasionally 
called in society paragraphs (she having paid the 
modest sum of Five Pounds for this distinction 
to the enterprising lady journalist who “arranged” 
for such special items of interest) — was not yet 
where she fain would be. She had made a poor 
marriage, — or so she considered it. Her hus- 
band was only a Colonel in the British army — 
just a man with a V.C. Other women, older 
and plainer, had “ caught ” or bought real live 
Russian princes. They — the said princes — had 
not any V.C., but then their wives were princesses 
and went everywhere, and everybody said, 
“There is the Princess Rumstuffski ! ” or, 
“ How charming the Princess Numskullskoff is 
looking ! ” Why was she not a Princess Rum- 
stuffsky ? Why had an unkind fate elected her 
to be the wife of a mere British officer with a 
V.C. won in the prime of his manhood ? And 
with absolutely no fortune ! Though, when she 
first fell in love with him — (what a stupid thing 
to fall in love !) — she had considered him very 
well off, and herself very lucky. He was the 
only son of a saving father who had left him an 
income of about three thousand a year, the 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


result of capital soundly and safely invested. 
But what was three thousand a year to a 
spirituelle creature of super-sensitive intelligence 
who wore six-guinea corsets ? Nothing ! — abso- 
lutely nothing ! Especially at such a time as the 
present, when excessive ostentation, vulgar, 
brazen wealth is the only pass-key into what is 
called “ society.” Poor Mrs. Arteroyd ! She 
had tried all sorts of ways to obtain a firm foot- 
ing on that slippery ladder which, like the magic 
Bean-Stalk of the fairy-tale, is supposed to lead 
aspiring Jacks and Jills to that mysterious region 
variously entitled “The Upper Ten” and “the 
top of the tree,” — but what success she had won 
was too perilously like failure to be altogether 
gratifying. Sitting in her cosy boudoir, she 
thought it all over, the while she read the morn- 
ing papers sulkily, — they were full of war-news, 
— nothing but war — war — war! How sick she 
was of the war ! — how tired of all the deaths and 
wounds, and blunders and casualties and bother- 
ments generally ! She skimmed quickly through 
the list of “ killed and wounded,” just to see 
whether her husband was among them, — not 
that her heart beat one pulse more anxiously 
during the search, — she was only interested in so 


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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


far as that if he were killed she would have to go 
into mourning. 

“ And I look my worst in black,” she com- 
mented, as she glanced from name to name of 
all those included in the terrible “ Death Roll 
of Honour.” But no — Colonel John Arte- 
royd, V.C. , was not mentioned as either slain 
or wounded or sick of fever — there was no 
allusion to him anywhere as being in or out of 
action, and when she had made herself quite 
sure of this, she breathed more freely. There 
was no occasion for her to “ look her worst ” 
just yet. 

“Poor old Jack!” she said — “I’m glad 
he ’s all right so far ! I don’t know why I look 
for his name in the papers at all, I ’m sure, — 
for of course I should hear direct from the War 
Office if — if anything had happened. But I 
dare say he’s really as happy as the day is long. 
He was mad to go to the Transvaal, and now 
he ’s there I hope he likes it. He was made for 
active service — but at home — Oh dear ! — what 
a bore he is ! ” 

Her hard brown eyes flashed coldly up and 
down the columns of news again, like sharp bits 
of steel getting ready to cut through the insen- 
15 225 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


sible paper, — what a number of extraordinary 
things were being associated with the war, she 
thought, — and what an exceptionally “good 
time ” some of the cc leaders ” of society were 
making for themselves out of “ Tommy Atkins” ! 

“ Fancy ! ” she suddenly exclaimed, as she 
caught sight of a paragraph placed prominently 
among other items of “ court and society” gos- 
sip — “There’s that horrible little fat woman, 
the Marquise Degagee, pushing herself every- 
where, all because she ’s getting up a Babies’ 
Fund! What an idea! ‘To provide feeding- 
bottles and perambulators for all infants under 
twelve months, whose fathers are at the front.’ 
And she ’s actually going to have a ‘ Royal 
Fancy e Faire’ for that l” 

In her excitement she jumped up and went 
to the window to read the objectionable an- 
nouncement over again. 

“Not a mention of Me anywhere ! ” she said, 
with a pettish stamp of her foot — “ it ’s too bad ! 
And I ’m sure the woman who writes these things 
actually lives on me. Drops in to lunch, — 
makes me ask her to dinner, — takes me to 
dressmakers who of course pay her for bringing 
me , — and yet with all my good-nature she is n’t 
226 


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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


a bit grateful — she does nothing for me. The 
fact is, I must do something for myself. But 
what shall it be ? ” . 

She sat down — or rather she “ dropped” 
languidly into a chair, with that particular scented 
rustle of herself which she had long practised 
and loved, — and meditated. Taking up one 
of the fashionable “ weeklies ” which cater espe- 
cially for the feminine world, her brows puckered 
vexedly, as on its first page she saw the “ ideal- 
ized” picture of a lady with a turned-up nose, 
and a tiara, labelled “ The Marquise Degagee,” 
and read the following interesting article. 

“ TOMMY’S BABY. 

“ The Marquise Degagee, who is such a well- 
known favourite in aristocratic circles” (“ What a 
lie ! ” ejaculated Mrs. Arteroyd — “ She was 
never heard of till last season, when Lady Paw- 
purse started ‘running her’ ! ”) “ is organizing a 
charming ‘ Fancye Faire* which will take place 
in the rooms of the Hotel Beaumonde early next 
month. The object of the festival is to raise an 
‘Infants* Fund’ which will provide feeding- 
bottles, bone-rings, teething-pads and other neces- 
saries, including perambulators, for all infants 
227 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


under twelve months, whose fathers are at the 
front. Royalty, always ready whenever a kind 
action is concerned, has extended its gracious 
patronage to the function, and Herr Bunkumopf, 
violinist of His Serene Highness Prince Dum- 
mer-Esel, will give his valuable services to the en- 
tertainment gratuitously. Some of the prettiest 
ladies of the corps de ballet of the Imperial Smoke- 
House will preside over tea and coffee stalls and 
will distribute the programmes, and His Serene 
Highness Prince Dummer-Esel has signified his 
intention of being present at the opening cere- 
mony. In order not to delay the useful prog- 
ress of this deserving charity, all mothers in 
need of feeding-bottles, ‘ prams,’ and other 
baby-comforts are requested to send in their 
names, together with a copy of their marriage 
certificates, and the number of their husbands’ 
regiments to the Hon. Secretary, Miss Jane 
Muddleup, at the residence of the Marquise 
Degagee, Belgrave Square. The Marquise 
Degagee is, as everybody knows, a true daughter 
of the old French nobility, and this generous 
interest of hers in ‘Tommy’s Baby’ will do 
much to improve the somewhat strained rela- 
tions existing just now between France and 
228 


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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


England. The Marquise has written a touch- 
ing poem for the occasion, and one of the special 
features of the ‘ Fancye Faire ’ will be her own 
recitation of it, in that pretty broken English 
which, as hosts of her social friends are aware, 
makes her conversation so peculiarly charming. 
We are permitted to produce one verse of this 
dainty and delicately humorous lyric : — 

u TOMMY’S BEBE! 

44 fytlasi ! — He paubre bebe ! 

TOhat totU its mu?3er Do? 

3it to oano la bcutetlie 
OTbtcb it suck ail 5e Day through 1 
l^eiao ! — i It jraubre bebe ! 

31 1 can Do noting but tty ! 
jfor tto fa?er, H 4 %ommy > gone! 
faring 4 aDteu ! ’ bytiyt ! 

“We must not forget to mention that Messrs. 
Shrewd and Sly, makers of perambulators to the 
Royal Family, have kindly given one of their 
c Empire Model Prams ’ to be raffled for, for 
the benefit of the Fund. Anyone sending a 
postal order for One Shilling will receive an 
elegantly mounted photograph of ‘Tommy’s 
Pram,’ together with a beautiful copy, printed 
229 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


in mezzotint, with a specially designed “ Art ” 
cover, of the Marquise Degagee’s appealing 
verses. We recommend the public to lose no 
time in sending their shillings to Miss Jane 
Muddleup, who will, as far as possible, attend 
to each applicant in turn. No loyal mother and 
mistress of an English home should be without 
the picture of ‘Tommy’s Pram ’ and the in- 
spiring lyric of ‘ Tommy’s Bebe.’ ” 

Mrs. Arteroyd gave a short contemptuous 
laugh. 

“ Inspiring lyric ! Stuff and rubbish ! 
Absolute gibberish ! ” 

She read the “ appealing” stanza again. 

“ H?elas? ! — He paubre bebe ! 

Mlljat toiil its mu?5er do ? 

31 1 to oano la botttetlle 
Mt)tcb it ouch all 5e Dap through ! 

*&e!ao ! — He paubre bebe ! 

3lt can do noting but crp ! 

jfor tto fa^er, ?e 4 2Domntp ’ bao gone ! 

Raping 4 aDiett ! ’ bpedjpe ! ” 

She threw down the journal in a rage — a 
real rage this time. 

“ Detestable little cat ! ” she said — “I can 
see her at it ! Dressed by Worth, of course, 
230 


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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


and with all her diamonds on, reciting her trash 
before that ridiculous old Dummer-Esel, who 
does n’t know the difference between verse and 
prose, — smirking and smirking and giving her- 
self all the airs of a Paris stage soubrette ! And 
Royalty is going to take her up, is it? Not if I 
know it ! It shall take me up first ! ” 

Her eyes flashed, and for once her cheeks 
were a fine crimson without the aid of rouge. 
She looked at herself in the glass, — ran her 
white fingers through her “ Titian Gloire ” hair, 
and pulled it over on either side of her ears till 
it looked wild and wonderful, — opened her 
eyelids wide, — blinked them to note the effect 
of her long eyelashes, — then smiled languish- 
ingly at her own reflection and said, — 

“ I will do a poem ! ” 

In this observation she strictly preserved her 
honesty. She did not say even to herself that 
she would “ think ” a poem, or “ write ” a poem. 
She said she would “ do ” a poem. And she 
did. She shut herself up in her room all day 
and went to work. She happened to have an 
unusually large collection of music-hall ditties 
and “ soldiers’ songs,” which had been sung in 
happier times by her absent husband. She 
231 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


turned these over, perused them carefully, and 
eliminated “ bits ” therefrom. It was hard work, 
but she persevered, and like a child piecing a 
puzzle together, she fitted in lines and halves of 
lines until, by dint of close consideration and 
painstaking study of the music-hall “ models,” 
she hit out something like a feeble imitation. 
And finally, after making herself quite feverish 
and thirsty with worry and fatigue and the con- 
fusion of brain resulting from “variety” ballad- 
mixtures, she succeeded in “ arranging ” the 
following colloquial and effective stanzas, much 
to her own satisfaction. 

44 ^ullo, SDomrnr ! Mheer’re off to ? ” 

44 31 ’m a leabin’ o!d dSnglans’s shore, — 

31 ? m or&ereb on actibe serbice, 

&n’ mcbbc 3 ’ll come back no more — 

3 ’m bounb to polish off limtger — 

’ % brill be a tough fob, ols pal ! — 

3 bon’t ttiant to gibe no trouble — 

But — just look after my gal ! 

REFRAIN 

44 3ust look after my gal, brill yc? 

OTljile 3 } m frontin’ the fire an’ the foe — 
Hike a gooti olD pal, look after mp gal — 
iln’ ^ainb bless yt toheereber 3 go ! ” 

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“ That will do as a beginning ! ” said Mrs. 
Arteroyd, nibbling anxiously at the pencil with 
which she had “ produced” these lines. “ It 
suggests love and a spice of immorality. His 
c gal’ — one of the silly creatures who walk out 
with him, not c on the strength/ of course. It’s 
a change, and it’s sure to go down ! Not his 
wife, — and not his baby — ugh ! you little 
wretch ! (this was a side apostrophe to the absent 
and unconscious Marquise Degagee) — but his 
‘gal’ ! Old Dummer-Esel will appreciate that!” 

She bit her pencil again and thought, — then 
glanced over a few more music-hall songs, and went 
on — 

“ 01 )t ’s a toeak an’ a lobtn’ creetur ! 

j^ot 4 on the strength/ you bet ! 

^n’ ’t is ’ard to be leadin’ her lonely, 
though 31 hopes toe U be married yet, — 
But there ’s Death lurkin’ Doton in they koptes, 
and grades in the golden transbaal — 
j^eber mind ! — it s for filing and eountry — 
But — fust look after my gal ! 

REFRAIN 

“ 31ttst look after my gal, toill ye ? 

OThde 31 m frontin’ the fire an’ the foe — 

Like a good old pal, look after my gal — 
an’ <£>atod bless ye tobeereber 3 so ! ” 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Having got thus far, Mrs. Arteroyd paused 
and considered. She looked at the clock and 
saw that its hands pointed to five, nearly the 
time for afternoon tea. And she had been 
“ making verses ” ever since mid-day with only 
a brief interval for lunch ! Her face was hot 
and feverish, her lips dry, — her brain — her 
brain ? — yes, her brain was actually getting 
“ fagged*” She knew now what literary geniuses 
suffered when they overtaxed their nervous 
forces. 

“ Positively I look quite tired ! ” she said, 
gazing at herself in the convenient mirror to 
which she always turned in moments of harass- 
ment. “ I have worked hard ! I don't think 
I 'll do any more Tommy-poetry now, — I can 
finish it to-morrow. I 'd better go and see Mrs. 
Long-Adder at once. She’s ‘ off work,’ and as 
sick as she can be of not showing herself. I 'm 
sure she '11 be glad of a chance to come forward 
with c Tommy’s Gal.’ c Tommy’s Gal ! ’ — that 
must be the title of the thing, of course ! That, 
and no other ! ” She wrote it down and 
smiled at it admiringly. “ Is n’t it splendid ! 
‘Tommy’s Gal!’ Won’t it just c draw ’ ! All 
the horrid men who have their own ‘gals’ on 
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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


the sly will cough with emotion over it, — and 
all the idiotic women who have managed to get 
£ left ’ by Tommies, civil and military, will cry, 
— that is, if Mrs. Long-Adder can be'persuaded 
to recite it. Oh, she must do it! With that 
long peaky face of hers, and monstrous Chinese 
eyes, and thick wedges of all-coloured hair 
coming over her ears, and her wibbly-wobbly 
way of swinging her hips about, she will be a 
succes d' enthousiasme ! And so shall I !” 

Her smile widened into an open dazzle of 
white teeth which irritable and unimpressionable 
persons might have called a triumphant grin, — 
and enveloping herself in a mysterious and 
wonderful cloak, all frills, old lace, sable-tails 
and musk-rat odour, she drove off in a quick 
hansom to a certain dubious little “ flat ” some- 
where about Victoria Street, which for the 
moment was the residence of the heart-enslaving, 
eye-fascinating, purse-emptying, cheque-demand- 
ing “ caprice ” of the stage, Mrs. Long-Adder. 
Much of the charm of this lady consisted in the 
delicious vagueness and mystery of her surround- 
ings. She came cc from America.” What part 
of America she came from did not transpire. 
She had a husband, — somewhere, — but who 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


he was, and how he “ fixed up ” things for him- 
self, also did not transpire. Suffice it to say of 
him that he was never seen with his wife. 
Much may be comprehended in that brief 
statement. Mrs. Long-Adder was by way of 
being an actress, — that is to say she could not 
act. She wore gowns and glided about on the 
stage in them. London went mad over her. 
The Spread Eagle Conqueror , a society journal 
published in New York, called her “our match- 
less American beauty,” like a new sort of 
cigarette. And she who was “ not received ” in 
the intelligent circles of American culture, had a 
distinctly “good time” of it in England. Mrs. 
Arteroyd found her reclining in a long sofa-chair 
or chair-sofa, whatever the piece of “ Art ” 
furniture may be called, arrayed in a serpentine 
tea-gown of “ diamante ” lace over satin “ ray- 
onnant,” — and if Mrs. Arteroyd smelt like 
one musk-rat, Mrs. Long-Adder smelt like two. 
The celebrated stage-siren rose as her visitor 
entered, and extended a white hand, admirably 
manicured, and loaded with sparkling rings, the 
offerings of “homage” from various adorers. 
And then both perfumed ladies embraced, — 
that sisterly embrace of social feeling, in which 
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the one woman looks gracefully over the 
shoulder of the other and breathes a gentle 
“ Cat ! ” to the neutral air. 

“ How sweet of you to come ! ” murmured 
Mrs. Long- Adder cooingly, — “ I have been 
so dull ! Alone all day ! Such an unusual 
thing for me! ” 

And her sinuous form vibrated with a tremor 
of triumphant coquetry. 

Mrs. Arteroyd smiled discreetly, but said 
nothing. Sitting down by the chair-sofa she 
critically studied the woman, who was reported 
in club parlance to “ have old Dummer-Esel 
under her thumb/’ 

“Not a bit good-looking really,” she com- 
mented inwardly — “It’s all her get-up. Put 
her hair quite plain and dress her like an ordi- 
nary respectable matron and she ’ll be downright 
ugly. Two of her front teeth are false, I see — 
and her skin is simply covered , — covered with 
that new Paris mixture which “ defies detection.” 
Her hair is certainly quite wonderful — she must 
have tried all the new tints on it in turn. I sup- 
pose it ’s the Chinese eyes that “ take ” — horrid 
Mongolian things ! They work long-wise into 
slits, — and that corner-look always fetches the 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


men. Anyway, she ’s the only person possible 
for my business.” 

And, forthwith, putting on all her own airs 
and graces, and talking in softly confidential 
tones, she “plucked out the heart of her mys- 
tery” at once, and asked Mrs. Long- Adder to 
recite publicly the “ poem ” she had written on 
“Tommy’s Gal.” 

Mrs. Long-Adder looked at her in a sort 
of innocent child-like wonder. 

“ You have written a poem ? ” she said, with 
just the faintest unkind emphasis on the pro- 
noun “ you. ” 

Mrs. Arteroyd flushed and bit her lip. Then 
she laughed sweetly. 

“Yes! It’s so easy, you know, to write 
about Tommy ! Everybody can do it ! ” 

Mrs. Long-Adder laughed too. Not because 
she was particularly moved to laughter, but 
because she wanted to show how much more 
artistic and melodious her laugh was in compari- 
son to Mrs. Arteroyd’s. 

“That is quite true !” she said, half-closing 
her “ Mongolian ” eyes in an apparent voluptu- 
ous dream. “And ‘Tommy’s Gal’ is a good 
title. I like it ! ” 


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She gently rolled herself to and fro on her 
sofa-chair or chair-sofa. She was one of those 
women who glory in going without corsets, and 
she had a marvellous way of writhing and twist- 
ing her figure under a tea-gown, suggestive of 
the first stirrings of a snake in long grass. She 
had paralyzed and stricken His Highness of 
Dummer-Esel into a fatuous condition of senile 
rapture by that special twist of herself, and had 
caused his little swine-like eyes to almost tum- 
ble out on his fat cheeks with the intensity of 
his admiring leer. She did that twist just now, 
and Mrs. Arteroyd instantly wondered whether 
she could imitate it. 

“ Have you the poem with you ? ” she asked 
in rich drowsy accents, broken by a half 
sigh. 

“ Only two verses,” answered Mrs. Arteroyd. 
“ I thought it better to see if you liked them 
before doing any more. But I can easily turn 
out half a dozen — ” 

“ Oh no! Please, no! Four will be quite 
sufficient,” said Mrs. Long-Adder — “The pub- 
lic — especially the cultured public — will never 
stand more than four verses of anything. Let 
me hear the first two ! ” 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Thus adjured, Mrs. Arteroyd began, as 
stagily as she could — 

“ Hullo, wheer’ye off to, T ommy ? ” 

And Mrs. Long-Adder lay back among her 
silken cushions and listened, blinking sleepily 
through her long black lashes, the while a faint 
half-satiric, half-pleased expression came and 
went on the face which certain of her admirers 
called “ so weirdly beautifully!” Before the 
second verse was ended, she rose up to her full 
height in a dramatic attitude of inspired resolu- 
tion, while the “ satin rayonnant” and the 
“ diamante lace ” fell around her in sweeping, 
glorious, glittering folds. She saw her game 
and was prepared to play it. 

“ That will do ! ” she said. “ Yes ! — it has 
every chance of a draw. I think I can manage 
it!” 

She moved to and fro, softly and swishingly. 

“ Yes ! Finish it ! ” And through the tan- 
gles of her hair she smiled a bewildering smile. 
“ There ’s a Bazaar going to be held at the 
Gilded Rooms for the benefit of Tommy next 
week — I ’ll offer to recite it there — dressed in 
khaki ! ” 

“You will!” cried Mrs. Arteroyd, rapidly 

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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


considering how that “ weird ” lady would look 
“ in khaki,” and as rapidly deciding that she 
must have her own way anyhow — “ You really 
will ! And do you think that your friend, the 
German prince — ” 

“ Dummer-Esel ? Of course ! He will do 
anything to please me ! ” said Mrs. Long- 
Adder — “ You may be quite sure he will come 
and hear me. But you know you must give 
me a hundred guineas for the job.” 

“ Must I ? ” And Mrs. Arteroyd’s face fell 
a little. 

cc Why of course you must ! You must pay 
me , and I shall give the money to the Fund. 
That’s how these things are done.” 

“ Oh, very well ! ” said Mrs. Arteroyd hur- 
riedly — “ I don’t mind — ” 

“ I should think you did n’t ! ” And again 
the temporary favorite of Prince Dummer-Esel 
smiled — “It will be a splendid advertisement 
for you — I mean for your pretty poem ! Now 
do please go home and finish it as charmingly as 
you have begun, — get it type-written and send 
it to me at once, with your cheque. I ’ll man- 
age all the rest for you ! It will be an immense 
success — simply immense ! ” 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


“ Do you really think so?” asked Mrs. Art- 
eroyd eagerly, as she rose to go. 

“ I am sure of it ! By the way, your husband 
is at the front, is n’t he ? ” 

“ Yes. Jack is somewhere near Ladysmith, 
I believe.” 

“Ah! That makes it all the more interest- 
ing! Now do go home and finish ‘Tommy’s 
Gal. ’ My recitation of it will quite take the 
colour of the Marquise Degagee’s c Fancye 
Faire ’ ! ” 

“Ah — h — h — h!” and Mrs. Arteroyd 
drew a sharp breath. 

Mrs. Long-Adder’s Chinese eyes glittered — 
she laughed. 

“ I hate that Marquise ! Don’t you ? ” 

For the moment Mrs. Arteroyd felt that she 
loved Mrs. Long-Adder. But she was discreet. 

“ She is very — er — very — er — well ! — 
pushing ! ” she said cautiously. 

“ Pushing ! Oh, that ’s nothing ! I admire 
push. You must push nowadays if you want to 
be anywhere. But she is so — so vulgar ! So 
very theatrical in private life! Yes! — your 
poem is lovely ! Good-bye, dear ! What an 
exquisite cloak ! ” 

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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


Moved by their mutual detestation of the 
Marquise Degagee, these dear women kissed 
each other again — this time without looking 
over each other’s shoulders, and Mrs. Arteroyd 
departed in high satisfaction, leaving Mrs. Long- 
Adder to roll gently and voluptuously on her 
sofa-chair and to laugh to herself as she thought 
of the “effect” she would make on the mind of 
Prince Dummer-Esel, when dressed “ in khaki ” ! 

In a few days everything was arranged as 
triumphantly as the most ambitious advertise- 
ment-seeker could desire. Mrs. Arteroyd fin- 
ished her “ poem ” effectively thus : — 

“ 3 ain’t much giben to blubberin’, 

But a somethin’ bltnheb mp eye 
When that there gal came to the station 
Last night to bush me good-bpe ! 

0nb noto ’ere 31 am at Southampton, 
tUtaber orbers from bloomin’ pall-^all, 
an’ toe sails m a hour for Capetoton — 

So — fust look after up? gal ! 

REFRAIN 

“ 3|ust look after mp gal, mill pe? 

OTljile 3! m frontin’ the fire an’ the foe — 
Like a gooD olb pal, look after mp gal — 
an’ <0atob bless ^e toheeretoer 3 go ! 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


“ 3|f 31 fall, of couroe 31 ’ll fall ffgbtht’ 
j?or tl;e honour an’ name of tljt jflag — 

#n’ 3 ’ll onlp be one of ten tbotitfanb, 

OTl;o ’ll Die for tbat runim^ olb rag ! 

But toe ’re off — (Soothe, Cnglanb ! — 3 ’ll trust 
W — 

2Db e great British Ration ’s mp pal ! 

pass tlje bat rottno ! — anb sap tofien 3 ’m bone for, 

* Wit ’ll all loot* after fits sal ! ’ 

REFRAIN 

“ geo, (Bnglanb, look after mp gal, Intll pe? 
OTbtle 3 ’m frontin’ tbe ffre an’ tl;e foe, 

Be a faithful pal, anb look after mp gal- 
lin’ d5atob bless pe toljeereber 3 go ! ” 

When Mrs. Long-Adder heard the final verse, 
her delight knew no bounds. She at once saw 
what capital could be made out of calling the 
“ great British Nation ” the “ pal” of Tommy 
Atkins, and of giving his “ gal ” in trust to 
England. What a point for patriotic pathos ! 
She practised the inflexions of her voice before 
a mirror. 

“Pass the hat round ! ” This, with demand- 
ing fervour, accompanied by the instant action 
of lifting the hat from the head, and holding it 
out to the audience. “ And say when I ’m done 
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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


for.” Tears in the voice here, with a quickly 
effective droop of the head and a faint gasp. 
Then with a burst of enthusiasm and tenderness 
— “ We ’ll all look after his gal ! ” 

“ It will go like wildfire ! ” said Mrs. Long- 
Adder to herself, as she got into her tights, and 
tried her “khaki” uniform — “Simply like 
wildfire ! That woman Arteroyd is too stupid 
for anything. She thinks she has worked out 
a good trick for herself, and so she has, in a 
way, but she does n’t seem to see one bit what 
a first-rate business she is starting me on ! Won't 
I fool old Dummer-Esel ! He'll have to look 
after his ‘gal,’ you bet, or my name is n’t Myrtle 
Long-Adder ! ” 

And acting on this resolve, she very soon set 
the ball rolling. London, like a big child 
waiting to be amused, rose to the occasion, and 
the forthcoming bazaar at the Gilded Rooms, 
when “ the beautiful Mrs. Long- Adder” would 
recite “an exquisite poem by the gifted Mrs. 
Arteroyd, whose gallant husband, Colonel John 
Arteroyd, V.C., was now fighting for England’s 
glory in South Africa,” became the talk of the 
town. The Marquise Degagee heard of it and 
nearly fainted. The Bazaar would actually take 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


place before her “ Fancye Faire,” — before she 
could have the chance of reciting “Tommy’s 
Bebe ! ” in the presence of Prince Dummer-Esel ! 
This was an unlooked-for catastrophe. And the 
“strained relations between France and Eng- 
land” were not improved by the contretemps. 
However, there was no help for it, — and the 
deeply disappointed authoress of “Tommy’s 
Bebe ! ” had to conceal her chagrin under an 
appearance of indifference to the world of fashion, 
which poured into her rooms in the kindly way 
the world of fashion has, to tell her of her exist- 
ing rival, — of the splendour of the preparations 
at the Gilded Rooms, — how “ poor old Dum- 
mer-Esel ” was really quite off his head with 
excitement, — what interest he was taking in 
the affair ! How Her Highness of Gottenken 
was going ! — how the Countess of Tiddlywinks 
would be there ! — how the Duchess of Gloriosa 
would have a stall ! — how that delightful dancer 
(not proper, my dear, but so clever !), that de- 
lightful dancer who must be nameless, because 
so very very bad, would assist in the selling of 
cigarettes — and Mrs. Long-Adder ! — oh yes ! 
— Mrs. Long-Adder’s recitation would be “ the 
thing of the day ! ” 


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“ And Mrs. Arteroyd,” said the breathless 
gossips, “ is simply wonderful ! She wrote the 
poem that Mrs. Long-Adder is to recite! — 
fancy that ! And that poor man of hers at the 
front ! And she ’s got a gown from Paris that’s 
perfectly gorgeous ; — and I know the man who 
does her hair, and he told me the other day 
that he was sure she was going to be a social 
favourite, as she had just bought three new tails 
of hair! Think of that! — three new tails! 
And such a gown ! My dear, it makes one’s 
mouth water ! And where she gets the money 
heaven knows ! For that poor man at the front 
has only got three thousand a year ! ” 

“ He may be dead by this time ! ” said the 
Marquise with a pretty little shudder. “ Poor 
ting ! He may be dead ! ” 

For a moment there was silence. The crowd 
of fashionable chatterers felt distinctly uncom- 
fortable. 

The Marquise smiled, — she had made an 
effect and she was pleased. 

“Yes, he may be dead!” she repeated. 
“ And if ze news come while ze bazaar go on — 
helas ! Come and have some tea ! ” 

The noisy voices and laughter broke out again 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


— the sudden spell of horror was dispersed. 
And a week later on the society throng “ rushed ” 
to the bazaar at the Gilded Rooms, — to see 
and to be seen — to watch Prince Dummer-Esel 
with slavish zeal, — to criticise the lovely Mrs. 
Long-Adder — and to congratulate Mrs. Arte- 
royd on “ Tommy’s Gal ! ” And truly Mrs. 
Arteroyd was in her glory. She was quite clever 
enough to perceive that Mrs. Long-Adder meant 
to make capital for herself out of the business, 
and she had previously determined that, having 
paid a hundred guineas to be cc talked about,” 
talked about she would be. And she spared no 
pains to win her object. Her dress was a “ crea- 
tion ” of some wonderful clinging stuff of delicate 
amber shades softly interwoven, and impressing 
the eye with the suggestion of early primroses, 

— it fitted like a glove, and displayed the con- 
tour of the six-guinea corsets to perfection. 
Men said — poor, dear, deluded men ! — Cf a 
fine figure of a woman ! ” — and women eyed her 
with that casual contempt which is the greatest 
compliment ill-dressed dames can pay to a well- 
dressed one. When presented to Prince Dum- 
mer-Esel, she curtsied with a fine carelessness, 
and gave him an upward smile of childlike ques- 

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tioning innocence, — whereat His Highness 
chuckled and scented fresh game. 

u We are going to give you a wreath of laurels, 
Mrs. Arteroyd,” he graciously observed — “ He 

— he — he — ha — ha! We are going to pre- 
sent you with the symbol of fame ! — ha — ha ! 
Pretty idea, is n’t it — he — he ! — Mrs. Long- 
Adder suggested it — ha — ha! — woman of 
ideas, Mrs. Long-Adder — a woman of ideas ! 
Hum — ha! We shall have a collection for 
Tommy’s Gal ’ in Mrs. L ong-Adder’s hat, after 
your poem has been recited — in her hat — 
ha — ha ! — the regular South African hat, you 
know, that goes with the khaki uniform — he 

— he! I shall put a Tenner into the hat — 
y es j — ha — ha ! Mrs. Long-Adder’s hat ! — 
he — he — he — he ! And instead of a bouquet 
we shall give you a laurel wreath ! You can 
keep it, you see — he — ha! hang it up in the 
drawing-room at home, till your husband comes 
back — ha — ha! He’ll have some laurels too, 
then, I dare say ! Got a V.C., has he? Good 

— good ! Yes, very good ! ha — ha ! ” 

And with these intelligent and distinguished 
remarks, he took his seat in front of the audi- 
ence, and Mrs. Arteroyd had the satisfaction of 
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being invited to sit beside him. Then there was 
a flourish of trumpets — a bit of “ Soldiers of the 
King,” played by the band — and then — and 
then — amid a burst of frantic applause, Mrs. 
Long-Adder stepped upon a platform, gorgeous 
with palms and exotics, and showed herself un- 
blushingly, arrayed in “ khaki ” uniform as 
“ Tommy ” bound for the front ! The plaudits 
were deafening. Mrs. “Tommy” Long-Adder 
“ saluted.” Prince Dummer-Esel grew apoplec- 
tically crimson with enthusiasm, and she turned 
one of her “Mongolian” eyes sideways upon 
him with a killing brilliancy. Then she began 
the doggerel lines, “ Hullo, Tommy, wheer’ye 
off to ! ” reciting them with all the vulgar 
emphasis of that cheap, forced, sham sentiment 
which is the only emotional quality that succeeds 
nowadays in winning the attention of that still 
more vulgar, cheap, forced sham institution 
known as “ smart society.” 

Away in South Africa, far removed from all 
social hypocrisies, out on the bare brown veldt , 
and under the sickening scorch of a pitilessly hot 
sun, two men, friends and comrades-in-arms, 
were exploring the ground together and anxiously 
2 5 ° 


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surveying the Boer position. They had made 
their way cautiously along as extemporized scouts 
from the British camp to one particular spot 
which seemed a sheltered coign of vantage, to 
see if they could form any idea as to the extent 
of the enemy’s defences. One of them, dark 
and broad-shouldered, lay flat, chest downwards 
on the grass, rifle in hand, looking up at his 
companion, who, tall and fair, and of an impos- 
ing figure, stood erect, gazing out far ahead with 
something of a dreamy expression softening the 
light of his keen grey eyes. 

“ I say, Arteroyd, had n’t you better lie low ? ” 
said the recumbent man. “ You need not make 
yourself a target for any marksman who may 
be inclined to try his aim.” 

“ They have ceased firing for the present,” 
and Colonel John Arteroyd, V.C., calmly took 
out his field glasses and prepared to adjust 
them. “ That ridge opposite is deserted.” As 
he spoke he glanced down at his friend and 
smiled. “ Dandy Ferrers knows how to make 
himself comfortable, I think, even under possi- 
ble fire ! I shall have to report you at home as 
a funk! Lie low, indeed! However, you’re 
no safer than I am, if a shell comes our way.” 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Captain James Ferrers, called “ Dandy ” by 
all his friends at home, on account of his some- 
what curious and capricious taste in neckties, 
laid down his rifle and took out his cigar-case. 

“ I suppose,” he said slowly as he lit a prec- 
ious 4< Havana,” one of the last he had or would 
have, till he returned to England (if ever he 
returned) — “ I suppose you really would n’t care 
much ? You ’ve got the V.C.” 

“ Yes, I’ve got the V.C.” And Colonel 
Arteroyd unscrewed and polished his field 
glasses with scrupulous attention. cc It ’s the 
best thing a soldier can have. But it is n’t 
everything.” 

Dandy Ferrers reddened with a quick sense 
of compunction. 

“ No — of course ! — I forgot — there ’s your 
wife — ” 

Arteroyd looked at him steadfastly. 

“Yes, — there’s my wife. And she is the 
very reason why — as you say — I should n’t 
care much.” 

“ Is n’t she good to you, old chap ? ” queried 
Dandy sympathetically. 

Colonel Arteroyd smiled a trifle sadly. 

“ Good to me ? Oh yes, I suppose so ! But 
252 


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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 

— you see — when I married her — I — I loved 
her. That is what she did n’t understand. 
When a man loves a woman — really loves her, 
you know — ” 

Dandy nodded gravely. 

“ Well — then, he likes to think of her as 
something altogether sacred — something re- 
moved and different to himself. We don’t 
want women to be angels — no, — but some- 
thing very near it. I wanted my wife to love 
me as I loved her — I wanted to feel that she 
was proud of me, and that if I could do a good 
thing at any time, she would be glad. A sort 
of giving her my laurels, you know, if I got 
any. Well — I soon found out she never would 
be glad that way. She wanted everything I 
could n’t get. She went in for society, — I hate 
society. I can’t smile when I ’m told to. I 
can’t tell lies thirteen to the dozen. And unless 
you can do that sort of thing, society does n’t 
want you. Then our little child — a boy — 
died when he was two. He was a jolly little 
chap, — he got very fond of me — used to play 
with my moustache and kiss me with all his 
little might — ” Here Arteroyd paused and 
put his field glasses up to his eyes. Dandy 
253 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Ferrers puffed a big blue ring of cigar smoke 
up into the burning sky and thought it likely 
that the Colonel was not taking a particularly 
clear sight for the moment. 

“Yes — that ridge is deserted,” resumed 
Arteroyd coolly — “I thought I saw a moving 
speck — but I was mistaken. I believe they ’ve 
got no more ammunition up there.” 

“ Go on with your story,” said Ferrers softly. 

“ Oh, my story ! It is n’t much of a story, 
old chap ! The little kiddie died, as I said. 
That rather knocked me up, — left me a bit 
lonely. Then my wife — well, she was all the 
time anxious to be a great figure in society. I 
wanted a home, — she didn’t care about it. 
She said that housekeeping was a bore, and that 
she liked hotels better. And I — well ! — I felt 
myself rather in her way. So I was glad to be 
ordered out on active service. You see, I want 
her to be happy, — for me, nothing matters.” 

Ferrers was silent. 

“ I have often thought,” went on Arteroyd 
musingly, “ especially since I ’ve been out here 
on these great bare stretches of burnt-up land, 
without a tree in sight, that death is n’t the worst 
part of life. There ’s a God somewhere, Dandy ! ’’ 
2 54 


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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


“ Of course there is ! ” answered Dandy 
promptly. “It's only the parsons that make 
us doubt it.” 

“ When all the colour and gladness have 
gone out of the world for a man,” said Arte- 
royd, talking to himself more than to his friend 
— “ when he does not see any hope or beauty 
anywhere, — and when the one thing — the best 
thing of all — love — has failed him — and with 
it all he ’s done a bit of service to his country 
and lived as straight as he can — then I think 
death is often sent to him just in the nick of 
time — to save him from growing hard and 
mean and bitter — and to take his soul to his 
Maker while it’s fairly clean and sweet — ” 

p s — s t! A sharp report — a sudden hiss 
through the air — a small but vivid flash of 
flame — a smothered cry — 

“ Look out, Dandy ! — Take care of yourself! 
Good-bye ! ” 

And Arteroyd’s tall figure, erect a moment 
before, rolled over and over on the ground, and 
then lay motionless. 

Reckless of all danger for himself, Ferrers 
rushed to his side. 

“ Jack ! ” 


2 55 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Silence ! A peaceful smile rested on the lips 
of his fallen comrade, but no sound came from 
them, — no sound would ever come from them 
again. Shot straight through the heart, death 
had been instantaneous, and Ferrers, dropping 
on his knees by the slain man, broke out sob- 
bing, and was not ashamed of his tears. He 
cared nothing if the same Boer marksman who 
had “ picked out” one of the King’s bravest 
officers with such deadly aim should make for 
him as well. Almost he hoped for the same 
fate, and once or twice looked longingly towards 
the ridge from whence the fatal bullet had sped. 
But there was not a creature in sight, — whoever 
it was that had hit his mark so well had retired, 
apparently satisfied, — and the unkind sun blazed 
fierce and furnace-like through clear and smoke- 
less ether. With the salt drops of sorrow blis- 
tering his cheeks, poor “ Dandy ” reverently 
composed the limbs of the dead, and, crossing 
the yet warm hands upon the breast, unsheathed 
the sword that had so often flashed aloft in fight, 
as a signal of courage and of victory, and laid it, 
hilt heart-wards, between the stiffening fingers. 
Then planting his own rifle upright in the 
ground to mark and guard the spot till he could 
256 


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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


return with help to bear the body into camp, he 
paused. 

“Good-bye, Jack!” he said hoarsely — and 
with a simple boyish tenderness he kissed the 
dead man’s forehead — “ Good-bye ! You said 
you did n’t care much — and — considering 
everything — I don’t suppose you did. But 
you got your V.C. ! And God knows you 
deserved it ! ” 

The same evening that saw the Colonel’s 
body wrapped in a soldier’s blanket and com- 
mitted to a South African grave, “ the beautiful 
Mrs. Arteroyd,” as she was now admittedly and 
eagerly entitled, owing to the proud fact of 
having been seen seated next to His Highness of 
Dummer-Esel, scored a great “ social ” success. 
Her verses, “ Tommy’s Gal,” were received 
with hysterical enthusiasm, and the collection 
made in Mrs. Long-Adder’s hat after the 
recitation amounted to two or three hundred 
pounds. An enterprising newspaper proprietor 
offered to buy the manuscript and “ run it up 
to auction ” for one of the Tommy-Funds, 
which offer Mrs. Arteroyd condescendingly ac- 
cepted. And then, a classic wreath of laurels, 
17 257 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


tied with the English colours, was presented 
to her by Prince Dummer-Esel himself with 
his own hands, accompanied by the gracious 
words — 

“ You must keep your laurels for your hus- 
band, Mrs. Arteroyd ! Add them to his V.C. ! 
— ha — ha — ! Add them to his V.C. ! ” 

It was a proud moment ! Expanding with 
her inward sense of elation, she received the 
garland with a studied affectation of graceful 
humility, and curtsied beneath the sunshine 
of the princely smile. Then, swinging the 
wreath picturesquely on one arm, she raised 
her head, flashed her eyes, and glanced round 
with an air of amused indifference on all the 
unsuccessful and discomfited women present, 
and in honey-sweet tones accepted an invitation 
to a private little supper-party at which His 
Highness of Dummer-Esel — with Mrs. Long- 
Adder — would be present, on a certain evening 
in the coming week. But — 

Unfortunately there is always a “ but.” And 
it most often comes in when it is least wanted. 
Solomon’s lament on the vanity of human 
wishes is the universal daily moan. And the 
disappointments which sometimes (though not 
258 


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THE LAURELS OF THE BRAVE 


half often enough) fall to the lot of society- 
schemers and notoriety-hunters, almost call for 
a new Solomon to bewail them. Only two 
days after her triumph, when “ the beautiful 
Mrs. Arteroyd ” was just pleasantly engaged 
in reading a glowing description of herself and 
her gown in a favourite pictorial “ weekly,” a 
telegram, not of the appearance of every-day 
telegrams, was handed to her. Its envelope was 
red. Her heart gave a sudden leap of fear as 
she tore it open. Its contents were brief, and 
were dated from the War Office. 

“ Deeply regret — Colonel John Arteroyd, 
V.C. Killed. Ladysmith.” 

And Colonel John Arteroyd’ s widow stood 
rigid and tearless. Her “ society ” laurels were 
withered. She would have to “ look her worst 
in black ” after all ! 


259 




0 


TO “THE QUARTERLY” 


261 




OO©OOO00OO©GOGOG©©©OG0OO© ©GOOOO©GGOG)©G0O0G»0©©©QO0O 


TO “THE QUARTERLY” 

With THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON 



ollJ frienP ! a 
merrp €priptmap time 
€o pou, topo notping merrp 
ePcr jsfee ; — 

4Sreat a^urPerer of poetp in 
tfjcic prime, — 


H0pp paPe pou pttucP at me ? 


i©itp Pengeful pooftp of pparpencP eritic^pteel 
gou tortureft giants in tfjc Papp gone Pp,— 
2tnp nopj upon pour creating, ruptp pjpeel, 
foil 'P Preaft a liButtcrflp ! 

5CJap! pou ’re far too cumProup for putp 
tpingp ! 

four peaPp, rianfting aric Pragp i’ tpe 
tpape ; — 

€pe pappp 31upcct pap tpe upe of Prittgp, 

21nP fteepp itp g>unppine?place ! 


263 


©©GGGGGGOO0OOOG0OGGGOGGGO >J< OQ0GGGG0GGG0GQGGO0GGGGOOO 

THE PRAYER OF THE SMALL 
COUNTRY M.P. 


265 







GOO00O0OGXD000O0G0G0GOO0GG ©0GOG0OGGOOOOOOO0G0000GO0 

THE PRAYER OF THE SMALL 
COUNTRY M.P. 

WHICH HE PRAYETH DAILY 


THOU Especial Little God of 
Parliaments and Electors, with 
whom the greater God of the 
Universe has nothing whatever 
to do ! — I beseech Thee to 
look upon me, Thy chosen ser- 
vant, with a tolerant and favourable Eye ! Con- 
sider with Leniency the singular and capricious 
Chance which has enabled me to become a 
Member of the Government, and grant me Thy 
protection, so that my utter Incapacity for the 
Post may never be discovered ! Enable me, I 
implore Thee, to altogether dispense with the 
assistance of a certain Journalist and Press- 
Reporter in the composition of my Speeches ! 
His Terms are high, and I am not sure of his 
Discretion ! Impart unto me by spiritual teleg- 
raphy such Knowledge of the general Situation 
of Affairs that I may be able to furnish forth an 
occasional Intelligent Remark to the farmers of 
this Constituency, whose Loyalty to the Govern- 
267 



G00G0O0000OO00O00O00O0GOO ©©©O0QOO00000000000OO0GGO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


ment is as firm as their Trust in the Power of 
Beer! Give me the grace of such shallow Pro- 
fundity and Pretension as shall convince Rustic 
minds of my complete Superiority to them in 
matters concerning their Interest and Welfare, 
and teach me to use their Simplicity for the con- 
venient furtherance of my own Cunning! Fill 
me with such necessary and becoming Arrogance 
as shall make me overbearingly insolent to Per- 
sons of Intellect, while yet retaining that sleek 
Affability which shall cause me to appear a 
Fawning Flunkey to Persons of Rank ! Enable 
me to so condescendingly patronize the Electors 
who gave me their majority that it shall seem I 
was returned through merit only, and not through 
Bribes and Beer! And mercifully defend me, O 
Beneficent little Deity, from all possibility of 
ever being called upon to address the House! 

I am no speaker, — and even if I were, 1 have 
no Ideas whereon to hang a fustian sentence ! 
Thou Knowest, All-Knowing-One, that I have 
not so much as an Opinion, save that it is good 
for me, in respect of Social Advantage, to write 
M.P. after my name ! And surely Thou dost 
also know that I have paid Two Thousand 
Pounds for the purchase of this small portion of 
268 


O0G0GGGXDOOOOG0GO0O00O00©© O©OGQ©O0G>GOGGX3G0G)G0G)OOG)G)O 

PRAYER OF THE COUNTRY M. P. 


the Alphabet, making One Thousand Pounds 
per letter, which may humbly be submitted to 
Thee, O Calculating Ruler of Parliamentary 
Elections, as somewhat dear ! But I have ac- 
cepted these Conditions and paid the sum with- 
out murmuring; therefore of Thy goodness, be 
pleased to spare me from the utterance of even 
one word in the presence of my peers, concern- 
ing any Matter for the Advancement of Which 
I have been elected! For lo, — if I said as 
much as ££ Yea,” it might be ill-advised ; and yet 
again, if I said ££ Nay,” it might be ill-timed! 
Inasmuch as I am compelled to rely on the Jour- 
nalist and Press-Reporter before mentioned for 
whatsoever knowledge of matters political I pos- 
sess, and it is just possible that he might, — 
through an extra dose of whisky-soda, — mis- 
lead me by erroneous information ! O Lord of 
Press-Agencies and Grub-Street Eating-Houses, 
if it be possible unto Thee, relieve me of this 
Man ! He charges more, so I am credibly in- 
formed, per Hundred Words than any other 
Inventor of Original Eloquence in the pay of 
the Unlettered and Inarticulate of the House ! 
And it is much to be feared that he does not 
always keep his own Counsel ! Wherefore, 
269 


©00O0O00OO0OOOGGOOOOO0G0© >J< ©GGGGGOG0GGOGOGQOO0GGG0G0 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


gracious Deity, I would be Released with all 
convenient Speed from the Exercise of his 
Power ! Rather than be constantly compelled 
to rely upon this Journalistic Wretch for Advice 
and Instruction, it will more conduce to my 
Comfort, — though possibly to my Fatigue, — 
to commit to Memory such portions of long- 
forgotten speeches spoken by Defunct Members 
of the House in the Past, as may be found 
suitable to the present needs of the Rural Popu- 
lation. The Corn-growing and Cattle-breeding 
Electors will not know from what Sources I de- 
rive my Inspiration, and the Editor of the 
Local Newspaper has not yet taken a degree in 
Scholarship. Moreover, the Dead are happily 
unable to send in any Claim for Damages 
against the Theft of their Ideas, which are as 
free to Independent Pilferers as the Original 
Plots of New and Successful Romances are free 
to the Dramatizing Robbers in the Stage- 
Purlieus, thanks to the Admirable Attitude of 
Dignified Indolence assumed by that Govern- 
ment to which I, one Fool out of Many, have 
the honour to belong ! Finally, O Beneficent 
Lilliputian Deity which governeth matters Par- 
liamentary, — grant me such a sufficient amount 
270 


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PRAYER OF THE COUNTRY M. P. 


of highly-respectable Mendacity as shall enable 
me to pass successfully for what I am not, at 
least, so far as Society in the Country is con- 
cerned ! Fully aware am I, O Lord, that a 
Simulation of Ability will not always meet with 
approval in Town, though it has been occasion- 
ally known to do so ! Therefore I am well con- 
tent to sit in the House as one MUM, thus 
representing through myself an inaudible 
County ! But in the County itself it shall seem 
to the Uninitiated that my thoughts are too deep 
for speech, while I retain in my own mind the 
knowledge of the Fact that my Humbug is too 
great for Expression ! 

To Thee, gentle yet capricious Deity, I com- 
mend all my Desires, praying Thee to keep the 
people whom I represent as Dumb and Inert as 
myself in matters concerning their own Wel- 
fare, for if they should chance to consider the 
Situation by the light of Common Sense, and 
me by the shrewd Appreciation of a Native 
Wit, it might occur to them to prefer a Man 
rather than a Wooden-headed Nonentity to Pro- 
claim their Existence to the King’s faithful 
Commons ! Wherefore, at the next General 
Election I should lose my Seat, — which would 


©0G0QOOOQOOOO0OO030000O0O GO00O©GOOOG©O©©©©O©OGO©GO 

A CHRIS!' MAS GREETING 


be Disagreeable to me personally, as well as a 
Cause of Rage in my Wife, to whom my present 
Condition of a Parliamentary Microbe is much 
more important and advantageous than it is to 
the Country ! And Thou knowest, O Lord, 
that when my Wife is moved by the Impetuous 
Persuasion of a difficult Temper, it is necessary 
for me, by reason of her Superior Height, Size, 
and Aggressiveness, to retire from the domestic 
Fighting-ground, considerably worsted in the 
unequal Combat. Protect me, merciful Deity, 
from her Tongue! — which is as a Sword to 
slay all thoughts of Peace! And, concerning the 
accursed ubiquitous Journalist-Reporter-Para- 
graphist- Correspondent-Attached- to-all-News- 

papers Man, who, for my sins, wrote my “ speech 
to the Electors ” at a high charge, and agreed, — 
and therefore expects, to write all my other 
public utterances on the same terms, I beseech 
Thee, when he next waits upon me with his 
Bill, ready to Counsel or to Command, grant 
me the Strength and Courage to tell a more 
barefaced Lie than is habitual to me, and to 
boldly say that I can do Without him ! 

Amen. 


272 


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THE CHILDREN’S PAGES 


KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING 
HOW JACK BUILT HIS HOUSE 
THE SWIMMING SHOES 
CHILDREN’S EVENING HYMN 


273 



































































































. 












©©GOOGGOGGOOGOGO0OGG0OGOO ^ OOOGOOOGOOOGOQOOGOOG0O0OO 

KING BUTTERCUP’S 
WEDDING 

AN EXTRAVAGANZA 


T is a long time ago since King 
Buttercup was married, so long 
that the most venerable Yew 
in the forest cannot remember 
anything about it, though it 
was a very grand Wedding and 
made a great sensation in the Flower-World. It 
took place in the beautiful meadows that sur- 
round the town of Stratford-on-Avon, where the 
greatest poet of all the world, Shakespeare, was 
born, — but it was long ages before either he 
saw the light or Stratford-on-Avon looked as it 
does now. Only the West Wind, who was 
really present at the ceremony, can give any 
exact account of it, and he told me all about it, 
just as I shall tell you. If you doubt the truth 
of the story, you must blame him, not me. 

This is how it happened. On a beautiful 
May morning, just as all the early Spring flowers 
were awaking from their night's slumber, a big 
Bee, splendidly dressed in a costume of brown 
and yellow velvet, bounced suddenly on a spray 
2 75 



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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


of syringa. He was one of the Town Criers in 
the employ of the Government, whose business it 
is to fly every morning from blossom to blossom, 
and relate every event that takes place in Flower- 
land, where as yet they have no newspapers. 
With a long, loud buzz, the Bee proclaimed : — 
“ Important! Special ! ! Startling news ! ! ! 
His Gracious Majesty, King Buttercup, Mon- 
arch of Meadowland, is about to marry ! ! ! ! 
Marriage of the Monarch of Meadowland ! ! ! ! ! ” 
At this, several lazy Forget-me-nots who had 
before felt inclined to take five minutes’ more 
nap, became broad awake in a second, and 
opened their sleepy blue eyes wide in astonish- 
ment, while a group of highly cultivated Lilies 
of the Valley, instead of nodding drowsily on 
their green stems, drew themselves up with an 
air of offended dignity, — “ The Monarch of 
Meadowland,” said they ; “ What is he to us ? 
A common wild flower — a weed — a nobody 
— called a king merely by courtesy. True, he 
rules over a small part of our country, but pooh ! 
we would not be seen at his court!” — and 
they rustled their long leaves haughtily. The 
Bee rubbed his forelegs together thoughtfully 
for a second, and then observed — 

276 


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KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING 


“ You spoke of a small part of our country, — 
why Meadowland is the largest kingdom in it ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” sharply exclaimed the stately 
Hyacinth. “ It is an unexplored wilderness, — 
its king and people are nothing better than 
savages ! Do not presume to argue with us. 
Sir Bee! IVe are the aristocracy!” 

The Bee bowed humbly and was silent. 

“ Pray,” inquired a dandy Tulip, languidly 
uncurling his leaves to the sun, “who is the lady 
destined to be the future Queen of Meadow- 
land ? ” 

“ The fair Daisy,” replied the Bee, <£ and report 
says she is as good as she is lovely.” 

A cluster of brilliantly-attired Crocuses here 
set up a shrill little laugh of contempt and deri- 
sion. 

“ What, Daisy ! ” they exclaimed, — “ that 
little fright! A dwarf! A model of ugliness! 
Well, the King’s taste is not very refined ! ” 

The Lilies, Hyacinths, and Tulips, together 
with some newly-awakened Jonquils, all joined 
in mockery of King Buttercup’s chosen bride, 
and the poor Town Crier was losing patience 
with them, when he heard a sweet voice near him 
say — 

277 


00OOOOG00OO000G0OO0O00GG© ►£< ©OOOO0G0GGOO0GGOGGGGGOGG0 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


“ Good morning. Sir Bee ! Your news 
delights me. I am always happy when I hear 
of the good fortune of others. Daisy has long 
been a dear friend of mine, and I heartily wish 
her joy. Come and tell me all about it.” 

Thus invited, the Bee gladly flew down to a 
bank of dewy moss, where dwelt the flower who 
spoke to him, the fair and gentle Violet. The 
other flowers were silent; they knew that though 
the Violet was really a native of Meadowland, 
yet there was no one more honoured at the bril- 
liant court of their Queen, the Rose, than she was, 
and they dared not speak against Daisy, whom 
she thus publicly acknowledged as a dear friend. 
Meanwhile, the Violet, after hospitably giving 
the Bee some fresh honey for breakfast, listened 
with great interest to his account of the approach- 
ing festivities. 

“Two thousand blue butterflies are com- 
missioned by his Majesty,” said he, “ to be 
the bearers of the royal invitations to the mar- 
riage. You will no doubt receive yours in the 
course of the day. One million spiders are 
employed in weaving a canopy under which the 
bridal pair will receive their friends. The Daisy 
is to be attended by one hundred of the whitest 
278 


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KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING 


Anemones as bridesmaids, and the King will be 
escorted by the same number of selected Celan- 
dines. The Wedding will take place to-morrow 
at sunrise, in the centre of the green field that 
slopes down to the river yonder, and after the 
ceremony there will be a grand Banquet. In the 
evening a State Ball will be held in the King’s 
Palace, to which many of the highest aristocracy 
will come, though the season for them is not yet 
begun. But many have consented to travel 
thither to do honour to the King — one Lily in 
particular is on her way from the Nile, travelling 
night and day in order to be present.” 

Here the Bee paused a moment, and rubbed 
his forelegs in great excitement. Not only 
Violet, but all the flowers near him were bending 
eagerly forward to listen to his account of the 
morrow’s programme, and he went on — 

“ I am to be there with all the Worshipful 
Company of Town Criers, — we are to stand on 
each side of the path down which the King and 
his newly-made Queen will pass — and at a 
signal from our Chief, we shall all buzz together, 
which will have a grand effect. The Thrush has 
been asked to sing an anthem, but his voice has 
been so much admired, that he has become fanci- 
279 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


ful and conceited, and always has a cold when 
he is wanted to sing. He say he has heard that 
if singers can manage to have a cold whenever 
it suits their caprice, they become more popular. 
But I must not stay any longer gossiping, or I 
shall never get through my business. I shall 
see you among the guests to-morrow. Good- 
bye ! ” and away flew the Bee buzzing as loudly 
as he could, for he felt very fussy, as most people 
do who have important news to tell. The Vio- 
let, left to herself, thought very much of her 
friend Daisy’s good fortune, and looked forward 
with eagerness to the forthcoming festivities. 

“ Are you going to this absurd ceremony, 
Lady Violet ? ” inquired the same dandy, Tulip, 
who had before spoken to the Bee. 

“ Certainly, if the King invites me,” she replied. 

“ Oh, we are all sure to be invited ! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ The vulgar little monarch will 
honour himself by pretending to know us and 
sending us his invitations ; but I, for one, shall 
not trouble myself to go.” 

“ Nor we,” said the Lilies. 

“ Nor we,” chorused the Crocuses. 

“ Well,” gently said the Violet, c< we need not 
decide what to do till the invitations come.” 

280 


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KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING 


The sun was now high in the heavens, and all 
the fields and gardens were bright with life and 
activity. The birds warbled gaily on the bud- 
ding green boughs, and hosts of gay insects with 
rainbow-tinted wings fluttered and danced in the 
fresh breeze. Many butterflies passed to and 
fro, some pure white, others pale yellow, others 
crimson, and some beautifully variegated; but 
as the messengers of King Buttercup were to be 
recognized by their blue costume, the other 
members of the tribe did not attract as much 
attention from the Flowers as usual. The hours 
passed on, and yet not a single blue butterfly 
appeared. Now, though Lilies, Crocuses, and 
Hyacinths had ail derided King Buttercup and 
his bride, they were in secret very anxious to be 
invited to the wedding, which they knew well 
enough would be a 'grand affair, and they kept 
sharp watch for the first glimpse of the Royal 
ambassadors. At last, a faint flicker of pale blue 
wings appeared in the distance, and then the 
long expected procession of butterflies came 
floating swiftly through the air. Very brilliant 
and lovely they looked in the broad blaze of 
sunshine, and a linnet, perched up in a hawthorn 
tree, was so charmed with the sight that he com- 
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posed a song about it and sang it then and there 
with all his heart in it. The beautiful butter- 
flies did not stop in their graceful flight for the 
Lilies, or the Crocuses, or any other aristocratic 
flower; they descended to the Forget-me-nots, 
rose again lightly and went on to the Violet, 
where three of them rested an instant, then on 
again, now and then fluttering down to give in- 
vitations to some modest field flowers almost 
hidden in the grass — sometimes poising on the 
white blossoms of the blackthorn, sometimes dis- 
appearing in the scented cups of early bluebells 
— away they flew bearing King Buttercup’s 
message to his chosen guests, and in a few 
seconds they had left far behind them the bril- 
liant cluster of cultivated flowers that had sneered 
so unkindly at the Monarch of Meadowland- 
The Hyacinths trembled with anger, and the 
complexions of the Crocuses grew even yellower 
in the extremity of their disappointment. But 
they said nothing, they knew well enough they 
had deserved the slight they had received. 

The day passed, and the young May moon 
smiled radiantly down on sleeping Flowerland. 
The Violet, who had been greatly excited by 
receiving a royal invitation, and the Forget-me- 
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KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING 


nots also, could scarcely close their eyes all 
night, and therefore they saw a party of the 
Fungus Elves practising their dances for the 
next evening. A pretty sight it was to see 
them all troop out from under the cover of 
the funguses which are their houses, and then 
to watch them gracefully skipping about in the 
moonshine. They were all dressed in brown 
and silver, and wore crowns of dewdrops, and 
nothing could exceed the activity and ease of 
their motions. Ten glow-worms lit up the 
grass on which they danced, and altogether it 
was a charming sight. Violet looked on at their 
fantastic capers till she fell unconsciously into a 
sound slumber from which she did not awake 
till the first streak of morning appeared in the 
east. A great noise of booming and buzzing 
then aroused her, and opening her dark blue 
eyes she saw that the Town Criers were all 
passing her dwelling on their way to the wed- 
ding. Looking around her, she observed the 
coquettish Forget-me-nots busily engaged in 
dressing themselves for the occasion, and what 
a fuss they made to be sure! They washed all 
their leaves, and were most particular to arrange 
a dewdrop in the centre of each one of their 
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blossoms. They certainly would have been the 
latest arrivals at the King’s Palace had they not 
been reminded how time was going by a cross 
old grasshopper with a squeaky voice, who 
was hurrying off to the wedding as fast as 
he could go. 

“ There you are ! ” he grumbled, “ dressing 
yourselves and muddling about, just as women 
always do. When are you going to start, pray ? 
I suppose you ’ll arrive just as the ceremony is 
ended ! ” — And on he hopped faster than ever. 
The Forget-me-nots now hurried the finishing 
of their toilette, and the Violet hastily arose from 
her mossy couch. Putting on her richest purple 
robe, she summoned a fly (you can hire flies in 
Flowerland as you can in our world, only you 
do not pay them so much), and seating herself 
on his back, away she went to the marriage fes- 
tival, and succeeded in reaching the meadow just 
as the King entered. What a scene it was to 
be sure ! Such a vast concourse of flowers had 
never been seen assembled in one field before. 
They were all packed together as closely as they 
could stand, and all pressed eagerly towards one 
spot, where the spider-woven canopy was erected. 
And a wonderful canopy it was, finer than silk, 
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KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING 


and studded thickly with dewdrops of all sizes 
that glittered like the rarest diamonds. Under 
it, King Buttercup sat on his throne waiting the 
approach of his bride. He was the cynosure 
of all eyes, and in truth he was a handsome little 
fellow. He wore a robe of cloth of gold, and 
on his head was placed a golden crown, and 
his bright face shone with happiness. Beside 
him stood his attendant groomsmen, the Celan- 
dines, together with several other distinguished 
Flower-people, many of whom bore titles of 
distinction. There was Count Dandelion, one 
of the handsomest soldiers in Meadowland, who 
had travelled in many countries, and, it was 
said, had saved many lives at the risk of losing 
his own. He looked very gorgeous in his showy 
uniform of pale green and gold, and he was en- 
gaged in what seemed to be a very interesting 
conversation with the beautiful Lady Pimpernel, 
who was one of the greatest belles and coquettes 
of the court. Then there was the Grand Duke 
of Borage who was flirting desperately with the 
young Duchess Eye-bright, and the gallant no- 
bleman Lord Fox-Glove was busy paying most 
devoted attention to the graceful and fascinating 
Marchioness Meadowsweet. There were knights 
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and nobles in abundance, and in short all the 
rank, wealth and beauty of Meadowland had 
gathered to King Buttercup’s wedding. Many 
were curious to see the bride, as few persons 
present knew what she was like, and all they 
had heard was that she was very small and shy 
and timid. But now there was heard a great 
clash of armour, and a brilliant regiment of 
Rose Beetles splendidly attired in green coats 
of mail appeared on the field and formed in two 
lines, one on each side of the King. Then came 
the Bees or Town Criers, and took their places ; 
— after which a strain of sweet melody was heard, 
and lo ! a skylark rose into the air, fluttering 
his pretty wings and singing as only skylarks 
can sing, with a clear joyous voice that made 
the very heavens ring with music. And per- 
haps it is because he sang so beautifully on this 
occasion, that ever since that time the skylarks 
that live in the fields and woodlands round about 
Shakespeare’s Town are famous for their lovely 
clear voices, which break forth in a chorus of 
the most joyous melody in the world every year 
when Spring colours the trees green, and fills 
the meadows with flowers. They are, as they 
certainly must be, the descendants of that special 
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bird which carolled so merrily on the morning 
King Buttercup was married. He warbled the 
“ Wedding Anthem” instead of the conceited 
thrush, and as he sang, all the blossoms rustled 
their leaves expectantly, for it was time for the 
bride to appear. A few seconds more of sus- 
pense and anxiety, and then a deepening mur- 
mur of applause and admiration ran through 
the dense crowd of Flowers as the fair Daisy 
entered. What a lovely little creature she was ! 
— So simple, so pure and innocent ; — so shy and 
sweet she looked in her snow-white robes, with 
her little golden bodice and crown ! She was 
followed by her fair bridesmaids, the Anemones, 
but beautiful though they were, simple little 
Daisy outshone them all. King Buttercup rose 
from his throne and advanced to meet her — all 
the Bees buzzed, the Rose Beetles clashed their 
swords, and the Skylark sang louder and louder, 
hovering, like a living jewel in the sunshine, just 
above the Royal Canopy. Now as the little 
Daisy approached her kingly bridegroom, her 
great happiness and honour seemed more than 
she could bear, and a faint beautiful rose-blush 
tinged her tiny white petals. That is the reason 
why so many daisies are pink-tipped to this very 
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hour. The King bowed low and led her to 
his throne, — then, turning to his courtiers and 
friends, said in a small voice as clear as a bell, — 
“ Loving subjects ! — It has seemed good to 
us that in order to maintain the honour and 
position of our Kingdom and State, we should 
take upon ourselves the solemn duty of matri- 
mony. In choosing a partner for our Throne, 
we have not considered rank and wealth so 
much as virtue and goodness, and in all our 
search we have been unable to find a fairer or 
more modest maiden flower than the Daisy, 
whom we now have the honour to present to 
you as your future Queen. We feel confident 
that the many beauties of her mind and the 
sweetness and constancy of her character will 
enhance the value of our Throne and increase 
the happiness and prosperity of our Kingdom. 
Moreover, it has been made known to us that 
in days to come, that portion of Flowerland 
whereon we now grow and flourish will be made 
valuable and beloved to all the rest of the world 
by the presence of a far greater King than our- 
selves, — one who will lead the thoughts of men 
even as we lead the first golden blossoming-out 
of Spring. Therefore it shall be our duty to 
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make this centre of our realm beautiful with all 
the fairest thoughts of love and grace and inno- 
cence which can charm a Poet’s fancy, and we 
here decree that these fields by the river shall 
be the beginning of all lovely fields in all lovely 
lands. None shall be more peaceful and pure, 
— none shall be more full of gold and silver 
bloom, — none shall be more delicately fragrant, 
or more sweetly surrounded by the singing of 
birds. Subjects, behold your Queen ! Before 
you all, I proudly declare my love for her ; — 
and from henceforth shall Buttercup and Daisy 
dwell together in loving hope to make the world 
brighter and happier for their blossoming ! ” 
Loud cheers responded to the King’s speech, 
and then the marriage ceremony commenced. 
The venerable Archbishop Ivy, glorious in his 
glossy green sleeves and quaintly twisted brown 
mitre, read the service and pronounced the 
Blessing, and then, as King Buttercup kissed 
Queen Daisy, there began a general “ March 
past” of all the representatives of Meadowland. 
What a wonderful sight that was ! The West 
Wind, who kept on blowing the news as hard 
as he could to all the four quarters of the globe, 
found it almost impossible to telegraph his 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


description of the scene fast enough, though 
he was generally admitted to be an excellent re- 
porter. The procession was almost intermin- 
able, and lasted nearly all day. Then there 
was the wedding Breakfast which took place 
under a beautiful tent of gossamer-web, round 
which a thousand tall Cowslips, officers of the 
Royal guard, stood “ at attention.” Innumer- 
able Ladybirds, in black and scarlet livery, ran 
about, waiting upon the King and Queen and 
their distinguished guests, and some specially 
selected Moths, in brown coats and white 
stockings, brought various kinds of honey-dew 
and sweet nectar to fill the Royal cups. Then 
came a grand dance, and the King, leading his 
fair Consort out, opened the Ball with her. All 
the flower-eyes were turned upon the Royal 
pair as they glided together over the green 
meadow in the light of the setting sun at the 
close of the long bright festival-day, — and on 
the very edge of the grass, as an uninvited 
spectator, stood the dandy Tulip who had 
sneered at the whole business of the marriage 
in the morning when he had first heard of it. 
Yes, there he was, twirling his petals just as 
some gentlemen twirl their moustaches. 

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KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING 


“Upon my word!” he exclaimed — “The 
new Queen is not bad-looking!” 

Jealous Lady Hyacinth, who had followed 
him, heard what he said and was very angry. 

“ Not bad-looking ! ” she cried in a little 
shrill voice — “ How dare you, Sir Tulip ! 
Do you not remember that you admired Me 
yesterday ? ” 

“ Ah, but that was yesterday ! ” drawled the 
Tulip — “You are all very well in your way, but 
you are heavy, my dear Lady Hyacinth ! — 
large and heavy! — You do not wear well!” 

“ Dear me ! ” said a tall stately-looking flower- 
personage, attired in purest white and carrying a 
golden wand like a sceptre — “ How you ‘ culti- 
vated ’ persons quarrel ! I have never seen 
worse manners even among the frogs in Egypt ! 
Really, Lady Hyacinth, your relatives the 
Bluebells are much better behaved ! ” 

Sir Tulip waved his leaves carelessly with a 
rakish air, and Lady Hyacinth trembled with 
rage, — for it was the Lily who had come all the 
way from the Nile who thus reproached then^ 
and she was a great authority on deportment. 

Meanwhile the Buttercup and Daisy danced 
on, and all the other field and woodland flowers 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


danced too, till the sun sank and the moon rose, 
and the meadows shone with the silvery reflec- 
tions of a million fantastic and graceful forms 
that swayed to and fro in the wind like pretty 
gleams of pale sunshine on dark green water. 
The river murmured and plashed among the 
reeds — tall osiers nodded their heads in drowsy 
time to the flying feet of the flower-dancers, and 
little moor-hens paddled to and fro from one 
bank of moss to the other, gossiping and mak- 
ing their comments on the beauty and brilliancy 
of King Buttercup’s State Ball. Higher and 
higher the moon climbed into the dark blue 
heaven, — the stars came out — and then the 
Laureate singer and Chief Minstrel of Meadow- 
land, the Nightingale, began to sing. As soon 
as he tuned up his first rich liquid note, the 
dancing ceased, — and all the flowers stood 
stock still just where they were in the field and 
bent their heads to listen, while tears of dew 
filled their eyes. And King Buttercup and 
Queen Daisy, seeing all their subjects thus en- 
tranced, stole softly away together like the fond 
little lovers they were, and lay down to rest on 
a Royal couch of budding wild thyme and 
velvet moss. And the nightingale sang on 
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KING BUTTERCUP’S WEDDING 


and on, — and the glow-worms came out and 
twinkled, and all the flowers fell asleep together, 
and their spirits wandered away to the beautiful 
Land of Dreams. And what they saw there, 
who shall tell ? Queen Daisy rested her little 
head on the golden heart of her King, and they 
too folded themselves up closely and slept and 
dreamed, while the nightingale warbled a seren- 
ade and lullaby in one all the night long. It 
was a magical night, and a magical wedding ; and 
the wonder of it all is that ever since then the 
fields have been full of buttercups and daisies, 
and we have grown to know them so well and 
love them so much that if they were taken away 
from us we should not know what to do, or how 
to replace them. And if you want to know the 
exact spot where King Buttercup’s marriage took 
place, — well ! — there is a corner by the river 
Avon, just between two beautiful bending wil- 
lows, where you will find . . . But, no! — I 
will not tell you what you will find in that 
enchanted little nook. For if you know any- 
thing about Fairyland, you do not need telling ! 


2 93 


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HOW JACK BUILT HIS 
HOUSE 


ACK told a lie. 

That was the beginning of 
the foundation of his House. 

There was no necessity for 
him to tell the lie. There 
never is really any necessity for 
telling a Lie, and no good ever comes of it. 
Yet Jack told it. He lied to those who loved 
him best, — to those who had given him all he 
had in the world, — to those who had done 
everything for him, and who had set their hearts 
on his turning out a true-hearted lad, and an 
honest man. Well, — he didn’t think about 
those folks at all ; — he simply thought about 
Himself. He wished to protect Himself from 
the consequences of an act of folly. And he 
thought the best way to do that was to tell a 
good, thumping Lie, and put it up as a sort of 
brazen shield between Himself and a disagree- 
able half-hour. So he told it, quite cheerfully, 
and with a delightfully candid air of truth, 
chuckling secretly to himself when he saw that 
294 



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HOW JACK BUILT HIS HOUSE 


the people who loved him were foolish enough 
to believe him and trust to his honour. 

He had, however, missed one awkward point 
in the matter. He did not know that the telling 
of one Lie would necessitate the telling of 
another to keep the first one up. But it was so. 
The first Lie was terribly unsafe at certain 
moments, and he was afraid that the foundation 
of his House would give in. However, the 
second Lie was easily invented, and the two 
false bricks in the human building were success- 
fully set together with a little mortar of hypoc- 
risy, and so steadied each other. 

After that, things progressed quickly, and the 
House grew up so rapidly, and to such a size, 
that it seemed as if a whole army of little demon 
bricklayers and plasterers from the lower regions 
of the wicked had come of their own accord to 
assist Jack in carrying out his design. One on 
top of the other the Lies were set in order, till 
Jack became so delighted with the showy ap- 
pearance of his building that he altogether forgot 
there was such a thing as Truth in the world. 
Lies became so much a part of his existence that 
he told them on every occasion. 

From a Boy he grew, with his House, into a 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Man, and went on lying. With an air of the 
most ingenuous candour he looked his neigh- 
bours smilingly in the face and lied to them all 
day long. He lied in business, he lied at home. 
He lied to friends, he lied to foes. Nobody 
knew where to have him, his lies were so cun- 
ningly and cleverly adjusted. When through 
dint of cheating, corruption, and fraud, he had 
managed to amass a large fortune through the 
ruin of others, he lied to Himself and said he 
was a good man. Thus you see he had nearly 
reached the top of the House he was building. 
Still entirely satisfied with his palatial Residence, 
he kept on adding a brick or two here, an arch- 
way there, an additional column or extra orna- 
mental pinnacle in various directions, till at last, 
when he was getting on in life, and was begin- 
ning to be rather fat and pursy, he decided to 
put the Roof on. He went down to a great 
Money-market to do that, and floated a large 
company on a big Lie. 

And so the Roof, all sparkling with gold and 
silver, was put on the splendid House that Jack 
built, and Jack went home to eat a gorgeous 
dinner within its walls, and take his ease for the 
remainder of his days. 

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HOW JACK BUILT HIS HOUSE 


But just as he arrived at the door of his 
grand Establishment, he saw a little beggar-lad, 
about as young as he had been himself when he 
first began to build. And this little beggar-lad, 
ragged and dirty and foot-sore, was actually 
presuming to stand in Jack’s great entrance- 
hall as if he had every right to be there ! — in 
fact, as if the house belonged to him! Jack 
was furious. 

“ What are you doing here, you rascal ? ” he 
spluttered. “ How dare you come here? Who 
the devil are you ? ” 

The little beggar-lad looked him full in the 
face, and did not budge an inch. 

“ My name is Truth,” he said; “ and I am 
here to knock down your House of Lies ! ” 

Whereupon he raised his little child’s hand — 
and lo ! without any sound at all, but as rapidly 
as a heap of snow melting away in hot sunshine, 
the house that Jack built with so much care and 
concern crumbled to atoms and disappeared, 
leaving no trace of itself but a faint bad smell 
like the passing of an open dust-cart. 

Now some people passing by looked at the 
blank space where it had once stood, and said: 
“ Dear me ! There used to be a House of 
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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


Lies here, and everybody thought it would last 
for ever ! ” 

“Not everybody,” said the little beggar-lad, 
as he stepped out among them : “only the Jack 
that built it ! ” 

And with that he also disappeared. 

And where was Jack ? What had become of 
him? Well, he had fallen with the ruin of his 
House — and he must have died in a very 
strange and awful fashion ; for just near the 
dust of the two first Lies he had set together in 
boyhood as a foundation for the after-building 
of his life there was seen a crawling Worm, 
writhing itself in and out through the wet 
mould. And the Worm was the coward Soul 
of a false lad who never became a true Man ! 


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THE SWIMMING SHOES 

A FAIRY STORY 


N a beautiful clear lake swam 
a large family of Ducks. At 
the head of them all was 
the Mother-Duck, quacking 
proudly, and all the ducklings 
tried to imitate her voice, 
which they considered superior to that of the 
nightingale. 

“ Quack ! Quack!” said she — “We have 
had enough of the water to-day. Let us swim 
to shore and see what kind of dinner we can 
pick up.” 

Thereupon she turned briskly towards the 
land, and all her children dutifully followed her 
example, except the two youngest, who were 
very wilful and obstinate. 

“ What greedy creatures you are ! ” they 
cackled, — “Never can five minutes pass in 
peace without your wanting something to eat ! 
We do not intend to come on shore; no! we 
shall remain here on the water and swim about 
by ourselves.” 



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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


“ Naughty children ! ” screamed old Mother- 
Duck — cc Come to me directly ! The first 
lesson of life is obedience to your parents, so 
just come on shore at once ! ” 

“ Oh, bother you ! ” replied the two rude 
young ducklings — “ You are an old Silly ! 
Yes — we repeat it, — an old Silly ! You know 
nothing. What ! Are we going to obey you ? 
No, indeed ! We are much too clever for that, 
— much wiser than you are, and that's the 
sober truth. So leave off scolding, if you please, 
for we mean to stay where we are." 

Now under the waters of the lake lived a 
little sprite, a good fairy, who hated naughty, 
disobedient children, as all good fairies do. 
And when he heard the ducklings, how they 
talked so rudely to their mother, he determined 
to punish them for their ill-manners. 

“ Tiresome little things ! ” he thought — 
“ They want a lesson ; and a lesson, and a sharp 
one too they shall have ! ” 

With this, in the twinkling of an eye, he 
turned them into a pair of wooden shoes, and 
threw them on the shore in a heap of sand and 
mud. There they lay, quite dumb and unable 
to move. The old Duck and the rest of her 
3 °° 


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THE SWIMMING SHOES 


family, seeing them disappear so suddenly, 
thought they had dived under the water to hide 
themselves. So without more ado, they wad- 
dled away with a great noise, cackling and 
lamenting over the wicked disobedience that 
had been shown by these two youngest duck- 
lings to their Mother, who had been so kind to 
them. Meanwhile, they themselves lay in the 
mud quite still, no longer beautiful and shiny 
ducks, but only wooden shoes, and very ugly 
ones too. 

The worst of it all was, that, shoes as they 
were, they suffered dreadfully from a desire to 
swim, and thus suffering they said to them- 
selves, — 

“ Oh ! if we could only get into the water ! If 
some one would put us in — just for an instant ! ” 

But they wished and sighed in vain, for an 
old peasant who was passing by at this moment 
caught sight of them and exclaimed, — 

“ Hullo ! hullo ! here are shoes ! Yes, shoes , 
as I am a living man ! Now this is what I call 
a lucky find ! ” 

With these words he put them on, and walked 
away in the greatest state of excitement. But 
the shoes were much too small for him, — they 
3 or 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


pinched his gouty toes and made him altogether 
very uncomfortable, so on reaching home he 
told his wife he had bought her a nice pair of 
wooden shoes. 

“ I hope they will fit you,” he said — “ I 
have often noticed, my dear, how the old shoes 
you wear let in the damp — now these will keep 
you warm and comfortable ! ” 

The old wife tried them on. She was de- 
lighted with them. They fitted her to a T, as 
the saying is, and with hearty words and big 
tears of gratitude in her eyes, she thanked her 
tender husband again and again. He received 
these thanks in a very sly manner, for he knew in 
his heart that he did not altogether deserve them. 

“ I have,” he said inwardly, “ given her some- 
thing which cost me nothing, — absolutely no- 
thing ! ” But he kept this to himself and smiled 
very good-humouredly, and thought — “Yes, 
yes ! She ought to be grateful — of course she 
ought. And she is grateful. Ha ! ha ! That 
is the best of it ! ” 

The next morning the old woman went down 
to the river to fetch a pitcher of water, and on her 
way she observed that her shoes were very muddy. 

“ I will wash them in the river,” she thought, 

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THE SWIMMING SHOES 


“ and then my husband will see what care I take 
of them — ” 

No sooner said than done. The shoes were 
put in the water, — but what was her astonish- 
ment, and her fright too, when she saw them 
swimming away as fast as they could go ! The 
fact is that the transformed ducks no sooner 
found themselves in the water than they felt 
compelled to swim, — to swim, as it were, for 
life and death. And on they went, and on and 
on, quite heedless of the poor old woman who 
sat down on the shore and cried bitterly. Her 
shoes had now gone away so far that they looked 
to her no bigger than bits of floating cork ; and 
while she was lamenting and crying, her husband 
came suddenly upon her. When he was in- 
formed of what happened he gave her a good 
beating for letting the shoes go so easily, and 
then he starved her all day to make up (as he 
said) for the price of them. Ah ! what a kind 
man he was ! 

Meanwhile the shoes went sailing away, and 
never once stopped to inquire where they were 
going, till suddenly they struck against some 
obstacle in the water. It was the blade of an 
oar, and they immediately saw that they 
3°3 


were 


GOG0OOO0GOOOOOO003OGOGO0G ►£< ©GQGGOGQGGGGGGGGO00GG00GO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


close to a small rowing-boat, in which sat two 
children, — a girl of about ten or eleven years 
of age, and her brother, a sturdy lad some five 
or six years older. The little girl leaned over 
the side of the boat to see what had happened 
to the oar, and exclaimed, — 

“ Oh, look ! A pair of shoes ! A pair of 
wooden shoes ! What a funny thing to find a 
pair of shoes in the sea!” 

Laughing merrily, she reached out her hand, 
and caught the shoes, one after the other, and 
lifted them into the boat. 

“They are actually quite new,” said her 
brother, examining them with curiosity. “And 
I do believe they will just fit you. Try them 
on — ” And he put one on his sister’s little 
foot. It fitted beautifully, so she put on the 
other, and then both children laughed aloud, — 
clear ringing laughter, like the tinkling of silver 
bells in a sledge. 

“ This is a good day’s fishing ! ” exclaimed 
the little girl. “Wooden shoes are not exactly 
pretty, but they are strong and useful, and these 
will save mother buying me a new pair. They 
come at the right time, too, for mine are worn 
into holes ! ” 

3 ° 4 


©OOQOG)O00GG©0©O©GG©0OO©G0 ^ ©GXDO0GGGGGO0OO00OOO0O0OOO 

THE SWIMMING SHOES 


As soon as the children landed, they ran 
home to tell their adventure. Their home was 
a hut on the sea-shore, and a very poor hut it 
was, for their father was only a fisherman, and 
they, with their mother, helped him to earn a 
living by making and mending the nets. The 
good mother smiled when she saw her little 
daughter return — she looked so bright and 
happy, and so proud of her wooden shoes. 

“ It is a lucky fishing,” she said — “and I 
will say nothing to spoil your pleasure, my little 
one ; though your father told me to give you 
and Denis a scolding — ” 

Denis flushed angrily. 

“ Why, mother ? ” he inquired — “ Why 
should we be scolded ? ” 

“Nay, Denis,” said the mother gravely; 
“ you should not ask, for you know the reason 
well enough. Your father has forbidden you to 
go out in the boat after dark, and yet you will 
do it, and what is worse, you take your little sis- 
ter into the same danger as yourself, — and, as 
for you, Nanette,” she added, turning to the 
child, who stood silent and ashamed, “ I wonder 
how you can be so naughty ! I have told you 
never to go out at night with your brother. 
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20 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


He does not know enough about the coast and 
the hidden rocks, on which many a brave ship 
has struck and foundered. But you are both 
so wild and wilful because you know I have too 
much to do to be always on the watch for your 
foolish pranks. You care nothing for your 
mother. Now that you are so pleased with the 
wooden shoes, I foresee what will happen. You 
will be always on the water, trying to find some- 
thing else, — and some day you will both be 
drowned. Come, Nanette, be a good child, and 
promise me, at any rate, that you will not go 
out in the boat after sunset. Denis will not 
care to go alone, and so you will both be obe- 
dient. Come, come, promise me ! ” 

“ I promise you, mother/’ said Nanette in a 
low voice. 

Denis said nothing, and both children looked 
sad and sullen. As for the wooden shoes, the 
excitement about them soon subsided, though 
Nanette continued to wear them all day, — but 
they themselves noticed how reluctantly the 
little feet of their wearer seemed to run on the 
various domestic errands required, — and in 
what a petulant humour the golden-haired little 
Nanette seemed to be. 

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THE SWIMMING SHOES 


Night came at last, and the lovely moon rode 
high in the heavens, looking as round and bright 
as a silver shield. Every tiny wavelet on the 
sea was tipped with light, and here and there 
a deeper line of radiance showed plainly where 
the phosphorescent fish were gambolling and 
darting to and fro under the water. On the 
shore stood Denis, the fisherman's son. He 
was stealthily at work, unfastening the moorings 
of his father’s skiff, and every now and then he 
glanced towards the hut in fear lest his parents 
should be on the watch. But the little home was 
shut for the night, and all was dark and silent. 
Carefully and almost noiselessly, young Denis 
pushed the boat towards the edge of the water, 
and then he ran swiftly to one of the windows of 
the hut and tapped softly. In another moment 
Nanette appeared, and with her brother’s help, 
she climbed through the window, and soon stood 
beside him. She wore her wooden shoes — and 
oh, how unhappy they felt! How they wished 
they could say, “ Nanette ! dear little Nanette ! 
don’t disobey your mother ! ” 

But they could only creak a faint disapproval 
as she ran along the shore in eager and feverish 
haste to be out with her brother on that spark- 

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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


ling and beautiful ocean. Quite forgetful of 
her promise to her mother, she laughed in sheer 
enjoyment of her own naughtiness and wilful- 
ness, and as Denis pushed out the boat and 
rowed quickly and steadily away from land, 
she clapped her hands in excitement and ex- 
claimed, — 

“ Oh, what a lovely night ! What a shame 
it would be to stay in bed while the moon is 
shining so brightly! ” 

“ Yes,” replied Denis, as he bent to the oars 
and rowed as swiftly as he could — “ Father is 
very unkind to wish to prevent us enjoying our- 
selves. We do no harm.” 

“ Besides,” added Nanette, “ even if the sea 
did get rough, you know how to manage a boat 
in a storm, don’t you ? ” 

“ Of course,” said Denis confidently — “ But 
there ’s no fear of a storm to-night. We are 
safe enough.” 

As he spoke there came a sudden crash and 
crack — they had gone straight on a sharp rock ! 
— a treacherous rock, hidden in the waves and 
unknown to any but experienced sailors. Their 
boat was splitting ! The water rushed in — 
Denis looked about him in despair. They were 
3°8 


©©©GG©OOOG00O00OGGGG)O©GiQ© OO©©0GXDGGG©0©©O©©G©O©©©O© 

THE SWIMMING SHOES 


three or four miles from the shore — poor 
Nanette screamed loudly. 

“ Be quiet ! ” cried her brother ; “ I will save 
you, dear ! I can swim ! ” And, flinging off all 
the clothes that might impede his movements, 
he threw one strong arm round his sister, who 
was now speechless with terror, and plunging 
boldly into the waves with her, made gallant 
efforts to reach the land. As they left it, their 
boat parted asunder and broke in pieces. Oh, 
what fearful moments were those in which the 
unhappy children struggled for life and death, 
battling with the cruel sea ! 

Thoughts of their mother, — the disobedience 
they had shown towards her, — the picture of 
her despair and sorrow when she should hear of 
their dreadful end, — all the little touching mem- 
ories of home swarmed thickly in upon them, — 
and Nanette gasped for breath. 

“ Are we going to die ? ” she muttered feebly. 

“ Yes, dear,” said poor Denis, “ I am afraid 
so. My strength is going. I can’t swim any 
more.” 

Then came a terrible moment, when all around 
them seemed of a blood-red colour — then it 
changed to a vivid green. The moon itself, the 

309 


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A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


sky, the stars, all became green as the green 
water, — then gradually the arms of Denis relaxed, 
and the poor children sank together, down, down 
to their deaths. The moon shone, and the stars 
sparkled as brilliantly as ever, and only the float- 
ing pieces of the little boat remained on the 
rippling sea. Only the wreck ? — No — there 
was something else, — the wooden shoes ! They 
had been loosened by the movement of the waves 
from the feet of the poor little Nanette, and there 
they were, on their travels as before. They felt 
dreadfully miserable, and were very much shocked 
and frightened at the sudden and tragic end of 
their late owner. 

“ She disobeyed her mother,” thought they, — 
and they quivered and creaked as the water car- 
ried them along, for they remembered their own 
disobedience when they were ducklings ; but 
they had not much time to think seriously, for 
they were now in the open sea, and they were 
obliged to go at a very rapid rate. After several 
days and nights of journeying without any fresh 
adventures, they arrived at a part of the ocean 
where a dreadful storm was raging. The sky 
was black as ink, and the thunder rolled and 
crashed among the clouds in a frightful manner. 

31° 


OO©O0O©QOOOOOGGOO0OGG©©GO >J< OGOOOGGOOOO00OGGGOO0OOO0G 

THE SWIMMING SHOES 


Suddenly a blaze of red fire sprang up into 
the sky — then another and another, and the 
shoes saw they were signal rockets from a ship 
in distress. Swimming on and on, they at 
last perceived an enormous vessel rocking to 
and fro on the mountainous waves, and they 
heard her tall masts fall, splintered by the light- 
ning. Suddenly there came a great crash, — a 
gurgling noise, — and then all was over. Now 
and then the shoes saw some unhappy creature 
struggling with the great waves for a few seconds 
and then sucked down in an abyss to certain de- 
struction. They were very much terrified at this 
dreadful scene, and they were trying to swim out 
of it as fast as possible, when they found them- 
selves clutched by a man’s hand, probably in mis- 
take for a plank or spar. The man was in the 
last agonies of drowning, and as he released his 
grasp of the wooden shoes, a flash of lightning 
illumined for a moment his ghastly and contorted 
features. Struggling to lift himself above the 
riotous and lofty billows, he cried, “ Mother ! 
mother ! forgive my long disobedience ! ” 

And with this last supreme effort of strength, 
the unfortunate sailor sank and was lost for 


ever. 


©0OO0OO00000O000Q0OO000O© >J< ©OO0000OOOOO0O0OOO00OO0OO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


The wooden shoes were now completely 
horrified at the awful sights it had been their 
lot to see. 

“ What an experience ! ” they said to them- 
selves — “ Oh, how much better to be ducks 
than shoes ! Surely no happy duck in a pond 
ever witnessed such scenes ! The life of a duck 
in a pond is so peaceful — so placid ! ” 

“ Oh, if they had never disobeyed their good, 
kind Mother-Duck,” they thought! — but, in 
spite of their recollections, they were compelled 
to go swimming on as they were, and so they 
got carried by a cross current out of the ocean 
down a great river, and out of the great river 
into a smaller one, and out of that into a lake, 
— a beautiful clear lake which they seemed to 
remember. As they floated along pleasant 
memories came into them, and they felt as if 
something strange was about to happen. 

Suddenly they saw a beautiful duck with 
shining feathers coming towards them, and they 
nearly jumped out of the water in their excite- 
ment, for they moaned creakily to themselves, — 
u We were ducks once ! we were ducks 

I ” 

once ! 

“Yes,” said a soft voice near — “ Poor little 
3 12 


OOOOO00O©GX90QGXDGOG©O©0G)0O O0GGGGOOGGG0OGX3GOGO0OO0OO 

THE SWIMMING SHOES 


Nanette was alive once, but she disobeyed her 
mother, and now where is she ? ” 

The shoes trembled in the water, and then 
said to themselves, — 

“ If we could be ducks again, we would never 
disobey our mother ! ” 

Scarcely had they thought this than they felt 
a most curious change coming over them, and 
ere they had time to consider what it was, lo and 
behold ! — they saw themselves mirrored in the 
water, two beautiful plump ducks, with rain- 
bow-tinted plumes and sleek shining heads, 
swimming gracefully along ! 

“ Quack ! quack ! they said — “ Now we 
know where we are ! This is the same lake 
where we were born, and where we used to float, 
— and there is our dear home, over there by 
the shore! Let us find our mother, and we 
will never disobey her again ! ” 

And neither they did. They were heartily 
welcomed home ; and their strange adventures 
served to amuse the whole farm-yard for several 
months, though a cross old Turkey-cock was 
one day heard to gobble out, — 

“ I don’t believe they were ever shoes at all ! 
When they disobeyed their mother, they lost 


G0GGO0OOGOOOOQ0G00GOG0GOO ^ OOOO00O0OO0Q0GGGO0OOO0OOO 

A CHRISTMAS GREETING 


themselves and got frightened ; — then they hid 
away for a time, and came back with an absurd 
story they just invented to make themselves 
look important ! ” 

But whoever pays attention to the gobblings 
of a Turkey-cock ? 


3i4 


000O00O0G00G0O000O003GXDG© ©GX3O0000GG00GGOO00O0OOOOO 

CHILDREN’S EVENING 
HYMN 


|£ our Ij carts celestial boiceS 
<f>oftlp Sap : 

“ SDap is passing, $igl>t is 
closing, 

Jtfncci ani) JDrap ! ” 

father, toe obep tljc summons, 

IJcar our crp ! 

§Bitp us, anti fjelp our toeaftneSS, 

€l)ou a^oSt l^iglj ! 

5for tlje )opS tfjat most toe tfjcriSf) 
praises Be Cljou ! 

<0oot> anti gentle art Cijou eber, 
i^ear us noto ! 

Coming morroto toe map neber 
atibe to See ; 

3111 toe aSft €ljee is to ftccp uS 
£afe toitlj Cljce ! 

3>S 



Gxseo0G00O00e0®s0®G0Ses0®0 >{< oeeoGoeoeeoeeGeoeeoeoG^ 

CHILDREN’S EVENING HYMN 


2$ap our lireamp fie of Cfip feing&om 
25cigfit anfi fair ; 

JDfierc at last toe fiope to meet Cfiee, 
free from care. 

I^oto tfie Otars are pfiining o’er up 
Jin tfie pftiep ; 

Jloofting lifie tfie toatcfiing 3Cngclp’ 
lofiittg epep. 

£oftlp noto anfi plotolp liping 
€n0p our ptrain, — 

<t5rant tfiat toe map in Cfip JdingDom 
cSing again. 

€ficre, tofien all our ptrife ip ofier, 
£itt forgifien, 

S^ap toe fitoell toitfi Cfice for cfier 
dp in Sjeafieit I 


316 






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